


Year 4

by unofficialsherlockian



Series: Sherlock at Hogwarts [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, M/M, Suicide, Teenlock, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unofficialsherlockian/pseuds/unofficialsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John enter their fourth year at Hogwarts where the appearance of Jim Moriarty as their new DADA teacher puts them on edge for Sherlock and Moriarty's final face-off. But with things breaking down all around him, will Sherlock come out of the year alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 221b

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the events that take place in this year and actions/thoughts/decisions of the characters tie into or reference those of year 3.  
> As always, I hope you enjoy :)

'Why does he need to pick you up? Did you tell him we could drive you?' Mr Watson asked John. John nodded.

'He said something about not being about to find the address-'

'I've lived in London all my life-'

'Yeah and he said the address is 221b Baker Street.' John grinned at his dad's expression. 'Maybe it's like the Leaky Cauldron-really hard to spot.'

'Bloody wizards,' Mr Watson shook his head.

'Harold,' John's mum came in and tutted at his dad. John laughed. 'You all packed, John? When's he supposed to be here?'

'He said noon...' John checked his watch. 'Few minutes then.'

Mrs Watson smiled. 'I'm just happy he's somewhere healthy and safe now during the summer months when he's not with us.' Sherlock frowned. 'That brother of his was a little too stiff-lipped for my liking.'

'Sherlock would be happy with that,' John commented, as the front door's bell rang. Mrs Watson hurried to get it as John and Mr Watson followed.

'Sherlock!' Mrs Watson hugged him at the door tightly and John caught a glimpse of Sherlock's bemused face before she held him at arm's length, looking him over. 'You've gotten taller.'

Sherlock grinned. 'Hi Mrs Watson, Mr Watson. Hi John.'

'Hey, thanks for inviting me over. I hope Mrs Hudson doesn't mind.' Sherlock waved his hand.

'She's thrilled. You ready?'

'How are you getting there?' Mrs Watson asked as John went to get his things. 

'Cab,' Sherlock said, gesturing to the street behind him where one was waiting. He smiled. 'It's a good thing your owl's out then. That would raise questions.'

Mr Watson chuckled. 'Alright John, we'll write to you. You boys have fun this summer, and at school.'

'Let us know if you need anything,' Mrs Watson added, hugging Sherlock again before holding John tightly. 'Be safe this year.'

'We will,' John said over a chuckle from Sherlock that sounded like 'No promises.'

'So why're we taking a cab?' John asked as he slid in beside Sherlock. 

Sherlock shrugged. 'Why not? We could've used the floo network but...'

'But what?' John frowned at him and Sherlock shot him a mad grin.

'You'll see.'

John chuckled. 'Aways the showman, you.' He watched Sherlock for a bit. 'I'm glad you're doing better this summer than last.'

Sherlock met his eyes, not angrily. 'Me too,' he said after a while.

They got out of the car on Baker Street and John looked at the numbers on the doors. There was a cafe called Speedys, and a lower numbered address to the left of it. He didn't see a 221. 'Erm, Sherlock-'

Sherlock put a piece of parchment into John's hand and grinned. 'Read it, then think about what you've read and look at the houses again.'

John looked down at the parchment bearing what he took to be Mrs Hudson's handwriting. 'Sherlock Holmes resides in 221b Baker Street.' he frowned and looked up at the doors. 'I don't-'

'Think about what you read.' Sherlock was watching him. 

John did and then gasped as a black door with the number 221b on it forced it's way from between Speedy's and the door next to the cafe.   
When the bricks had finished realigning and the windows adjusting themselves, John looked at Sherlock, his mouth slightly open. 

Sherlock grinned even more broadly. 'And that's why we didn't use the floo network.'

John was still gaping as he followed Sherlock through the front door.

'Mrs Hudson, you remember John?'

'Of course dear. He was the only person you talked about up until last year.' Mrs Hudson smiled at John, who turned his head sharply to look at Sherlock, who John could've sworn had gone pink in the face.

'Alright, John, we're upstairs.' Sherlock gave Mrs Hudson a small smile before leading John up seventeen steps and into a large sitting room, cluttered with books and potions equipment, Sherlock's telescope and trunk thrown to one side, broomstick and violin propped up against the wall under one of the two large windows, what looked like several piles of ash lined up on the mantle of the fireplace next to a knife...  
Sigerson came pattering out from around the corner and wound himself around John's legs until John bent over and scratched the cat behind the ears. Then he turned to look at Sherlock. 

'Wow.' Sherlock smiled.

'There's another bedroom upstairs, but it's not exactly cleaned out yet--Mrs Hudson's gonna get someone to clean it up and rewallpaper it and whatever else needs done but she hasn't got there yet.'

John poked his head around the corner, into the kitchen. 'Do you even use this?' he asked incredulously, eyeing the potions equipment strewn all over and the mess. Sherlock blushed. 

'I need to clean everything up,' he muttered. 'Kitchen's there, but Mrs Hudson's reassured me that she's more than happy to cook for me-and you now-she's been all alone up in here since her husband got sent to Azkaban...'

John shot Sherlock a look and Sherlock waved his hand. 'Murdered a few people, dark magic, the likes. I helped to make sure he got sent there for life. She's an amazing woman, Mrs Hudson.'

Sherlock was rambling and John knew it, but he was so glad to see his friend happy for once that he didn't mind in the slightest. Sherlock led them through the hallway off the kitchen where they passed a bathroom and finally entered Sherlock's room.

It was less messy than the sitting room, John noted. A single wall bore dozens of clippings from the Daily Prophet about various wizard who'd broken the law and Lestrade's rise to an inspector, among other things. John was glad to see two twin beds in the room, both clean of hazards substances or clutter.

Sherlock looked at John and John grinned at him. 'It's gonna be a great summer.'


	2. Sightings and Suspicions

John was enjoying his time at Baker Street immensely. Sherlock, as always, was never boring to be around. He was always active, always theorizing or talking about something interesting. He also was playing his violin quite a bit more than John had ever heard him-sometimes frantic pieces that John winced at, other times music that both John and Mrs Hudson listened to and enjoyed.

Mrs Hudson herself was amazing. John would never admit it to his own mother, but her cooking and baking was the best he'd ever had, and she seemed to love doing both for the boys. As a result, Sherlock was eating much more consistently than John had seen in any of the years he'd known his friend. Mrs Hudson seemed to love Sherlock, often referring to him to John as her boy; John could see where Sherlock calling her his nearly adoptive mother at the end of last term came from.

'I worried, you know,' she said to John, setting out breakfast while Sherlock was still in the shower. 'He wasn't alright last year, not for most of it. His brother talked to me after...his father's death and even he seemed worried.' Mrs Hudson huffed. 'His letters felt off...I didn't know what to think, I just wanted him here and safe. But after Christmas he sounded alot better, and well, now...' She smiled. 'I'm just glad he's got a friend as good as you.'

John smiled. 'Thanks Mrs Hudson. Do you want any help with anything?'

'Oh no dear, I'll be fine. Sherlock,' she said as the boy in question padded in, not wearing any socks, 'I won't be in for the rest of the day, just so you know.'

Sherlock nodded as he sat between her and John and started picking out a few slices of bacon.

'And you really shouldn't go barefoot-I don't think we got all the glass from the potion vial off the floor a few days ago.'

'A little blood never hurt anyone,' Sherlock said, smiling faintly. 'I'll put on socks when I've finished.'

John chuckled. 'So how are you and Victor doing?' he asked. 'I heard from him at the beginning of the summer; he seemed alright.'

'Mmm.' Sherlock looked thoughtful.

'Sherlock had him over the week before you came,' Mrs Hudson supplied, smiling. 'Lovely boy.'

'He's alright. His family's having problems, apparently, though he didn't want to talk about it...apparently nothing I could help with.' Sherlock shrugged. 'He didn't like the mess.'

'Nobody likes your mess, Sherlock,' Mrs Hudson admonished, while starting to clear the table. Sherlock sighed loudly.

'Are you worried about him?' John asked as Mrs Hudson left.

Sherlock gave John a look. 'Maybe.'

John smiled. 'So, I've been meaning to ask, what's that?' He pointed to the wall that the sofa was up against, littered in what were seemingly random newspaper clippings.

'Oh. Jim Moriarty. Bunch of crimes that seem fitted to his ... talents. There's no real way to connect him to any of them but...' Sherlock looked at John. 'I just know.'

'Wow.' John rose and crossed the room to read some of the clippings on the wall. 'Have you told Lestrade about this?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Tried. No evidence at all though, no way to show it was him. Besides,' he pointed to a few of the crimes, 'few of these-some Lestrade solved, some me-have shown up culprits who have seemingly no connection to Moriarty.' Sherlock pressed his hands together, fingers under his chin, thinking. 'It's like the stuff he did at Hogwarts all over again.'

'What's he aiming for though?' John scanned the articles. "what does he want from any of this, especially facing against you?'

'Our first year he said he just liked the chaos,' Sherlock muttered. 'And then again, people have been whispering about chaos at Hogwarts. I wrote to Bell a few weeks ago, asked him to let me know if he hears any rumors, and to stay in contact with the Hogwarts staff...But that's mainly all I can do for the moment.'

John nodded. 'No chance your brother could do anything?'

Sherlock made a sound of annoyance. 'He's the last person I'll ask for help.' He looked at the newspaper clippings, watching angry faces growl at him and Inspector Lestrade stride through a few of them. 'The only thing we can do is wait.'

 

'I want you to stay safe, then. Both of you,' Mrs Hudson said to them at the door. 'Sherlock, I know you like helping the Inspector, but you need to remember that you're still underage-'

'Mrs Hudson.' Sherlock gripped her arms and looked into her face sincerely. 'I'm always careful. Don't worry.' Then he turned to the door. 'Coming John?'

John smiled at Mrs Hudson. 'I'll keep an eye on him,' he promised her. 'I'm sure Lestrade does anyways. See you when we get back.'

It was odd, John thought, as he followed Sherlock into the taxi and stared out the window during their drive, how quickly he'd slipped into being a part of Sherlock's life. And how easily it happened, despite the boy being so closed off to so many people. It made John feel like a part of a small family; Sherlock and the people who cared for him.

'John Watson, it's nice seeing you again,' Lestrade said, shaking John's hand and leading them into the house. 'How've you been?'

'Alright,' John said. 'So how does this work, you two and this thing?' He looked from Lestrade to Sherlock.

'He shows me something suspicious, I tell him what to look for,' Sherlock said simply. 'So what do you have today?'

Lestrade smiled faintly as he led them upstairs. 'Man by the name of Janus. Pretty sure he was poisoned. Found him here, we've only got the fact that he's married to go on. No idea why he was here.'

 

By the end of the day, Sherlock had figured out by the man's clothing and some residue under the fingernails of the woman who owned the house that she'd murdered him. By sniffing a flask that he found rolled under the sofa, Sherlock figured out that the man had been taking polyjuice potion to see the woman who's house they were in, and then go back to his wife when the effects wore off. She'd poisoned the flask when she'd found out.

'Not a difficult one,' Sherlock told Lestrade, exiting the building. 

'Well, no, not at all.' Lestrade shook his head. 'We hadn't fully searched the place when you arrived, though to be honest, I think we would've just written it off as polyjuice potion and not even checked for poison.'

Sherlock smiled.

'And anyway,' Lestrade said, 'you head back to Hogwarts in a week, so I think this'll be the last time I bring you in to look around.'

'Don't stop writing, though.'

John grinned. 'He loves hearing about your cases.'

Lestrade smiled. 'Alright then, I'll be in touch.'


	3. Consulted

John and Sherlock took the floo network with Mrs Hudson to get to Diagon Alley to do their shopping before the start of the new term. Floo powder, John decided, brushing himself off on the hearth in the Leaky Cauldron, was not a way he'd like to make a habit of traveling by. Sherlock sighed from before him, shaking soot from his robes.

'Granted, it's not the cleanest way,' he muttered, 'but next to apparating, it's probably the quickest.'

'Sherlock, it's not like you care much about tidiness-your flat can attest to that.' Mrs Hudson huffed as she walked with them to the back lot of the inn. 

'There's a difference, Mrs Hudson. Your appearance says alot about you.'

'You always demonstrate that perfectly, dear.' Mrs Hudson smiled at him. 'You two get your shopping done and meet me back here; I need to buy a few things as well.'

'Thanks, Mrs Hudson,' John said as he followed Sherlock into the busy street.

'And Sherlock, don't forget new robes!' Mrs Hudson called after them.

'I know,' Sherlock called back, and then led John off through the streets. 'Where first?'

'I need to get some owl treats for Imogene,' John said, 'but that can wait. And we should probably hit Borgin and Burkes last, since we both always get more books than we come for.'

'Let's get ingredients for Snape's class done first then,' Sherlock suggested. 'And then we'll go wherever looks least crowded.'

They headed straight through the hoards of people to the apothecary which, thankfully, wasn't completely crowded.

'Sherlock, John, hi!' John looked to see Molly Hooper waving at them.

'Hello Molly,' John said, smiling. She'd gotten taller. 'Last minute shopping too?'

She nodded. 'Excited for the new term?'

'Yeah, definitely,' John said. He looked at Sherlock.

'It might be interesting. I don't think I'm looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts,' Sherlock said, scooping some ingredients that they didn't use in class into a bag. 

Molly frowned. 'I thought that was one of your best classes?'

'Eh, I'll stick to potions this year.' Sherlock looked at her. 'Jim Moriarty's back as a teacher this year.'

'I didn't know you two... well,' Molly looked at him. 'I don't think I've ever heard of anyone saying you two hated each other.'

'They have a long history,' John said grimly. 'I don't think it'll be very fun for either of them.'

'Just don't do anything to get yourself into trouble,' Molly warned Sherlock. 'I mean, your reputation around the school's really good for helping all those people, but if you mess with a professor, I don't think that'll help you.'

'I'll be fine, Molly, don't worry,' Sherlock said gently. He looked at John. 'Ready yet?'

'Nearly.'

'See you at Hogwarts,' Molly said happily.

'Yup,' John said as they left the shop. Then he turned to Sherlock as they made their way to Madam Malkin's. 'Are you nervous?'

'About what?' Sherlock said sounding bored.

John made a frustrated noise. 'About bloody Moriarty this year. You know he's back to do something serious, and knowing your history with him, that can't be good for you. You've got to be at least slightly worried.'

'Nope. It'll be fine.'

Sherlock was hiding things from him again, John realized, fairly quickly, as they bought their robes. He'd thought over the past year they'd gotten alot closer, but Sherlock was still deflecting John's questions when it came to Moriarty. And John didn't know if he could help his best friend if he didn't know what was going on.

'You know, I don't want to keep doing this with you,' John said angrily.

'What are you talking about?' Sherlock asked, stopping outside the bookshop to face John. He looked into John's eyes and sighed. 'Oh you think I'm honestly worried about Moriarty but not talking to you.'

John nodded. 'How could you not be worried? He's been being most of all the dangerous things that've happened to you in the past three years.'

'I think a Quidditch match is more dangerous than Moriarty,' Sherlock said, sighing. 'Look, Moriarty's been wanting to get me out of his way for years. I've been wanting him to quit what he's doing since our first year, but also wanted to see what he was aiming for so I could stop him affectively. if he's got a plan against me, I want to have one against him. And there's no sense in me worrying about it, okay?'

John met Sherlock's eyes. 'Okay,' he said after a while. 'I just don't wanna be lied to anymore, Sherlock.'

'Come on, let's get our books and then we can find Mrs Hudson.'

It was in the section on wizard law and crime that they saw Sally Donovan and Phillip Anderson, both with books that Sherlock would be interested in.

'What are you doing here?' John asked, frowning.

'Books for the year,' Sally said sardonically. 'Same as you.'

'No but-' John gestured. 'Here, this section.'

'Sally wants to be a detective for the ministry and Anderson wants to work with crime scenes,' Sherlock said, sounding bored. 'They could use you, Anderson, the man they've got now is stupid.'

'Really?' Anderson asked, his jaw dropping.

Sherlock nodded. 'As soon as you stop being such an idiot as well.'

Sally rolled her eyes. 'Unlike you, freak, some of us actually respect the rules.'

'Yeah, rules don't normally get people to accomplish the right things,' Sherlock muttered, grabbing a book from the shelf. 'See you.'

They left and started to head back to the Leaky Cauldron. 'Probably gonna end up working with them one day,' John pointed out to Sherlock.

'They're not terribly stupid,' Sherlock said. 'Just practically everyone is an idiot, including them.' He sighed. 'I actually wouldn't mind working with them-they're moderately clever, and if someone like Lestrade was in charge of them, something might actually get done.'

'Hello boys,' Mrs Hudson called from a table in the inn. 'Sherlock, that brother of yours is in a room upstairs, says he needs to see you both, urgently.' She made an exasperated gesture. 'After that we can leave.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Wonderful.'

'Don't start any fights,' John warned, as they went upstairs.

'Ah Sherlock, and John. Good to see you both.' Mycroft was smiling next to an older wizard who was seated in a chair.

Sherlock sighed. 'So big well to do ministry man is having problems, isn't that your area, _brother-dear_ not mine?'

John sighed, hoping this would be over quickly.

'No, sorry, this problem involves things that will take place on Hogwarts grounds.' Mycroft smirked.

'Sorry, I'm Harry Harvill and I have a problem that involves my daughter.'

'Mr Harvill's daughter has been known to keep the company of a Ms Irene Adler, I believe she is a Slytherin student,' Mycroft said. 'Have you ever heard of her?'

'Yeah,' John said. 'Sherlock's...almost met her.' Sherlock nodded.

'Well, she's known to be...smart. And apparently a good name at Hogwarts, however, we've heard word from her that she had photos of Mr Harvill's daughter and herself in...scenarios that would not make the school or the ministry happy with either parties.'

Mr Harvill nodded. 'She didn't seem to be blackmailing, as she didn't ask for any gold, but she told me to seek the console of Mycroft Holmes...and he said we should bring this to you.'

'You want the photos back,' John said.

Mycroft nodded.

'We'll do our best,' Sherlock said. 

'Thank you.' Mr Harvill sounded relieved.

'There's more, isn't there?' Sherlock asked as Mycroft followed John and him out the door. John looked to Mycroft who looked annoyed.

'Yes, actually. He name came up in conjunction with a Jim Moriarty, as well as a few other things to do with the ministry that I cannot tell you about.' Mycroft looked at Sherlock. 'For once in your life, take _caution_.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Always, brother.' He nodded to John. 'Come on, we'd better not keep Mrs Hudson waiting.' I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything, Mycroft.'

John sighed as they headed back downstairs. 'Why does everything seem to lead back to Moriarty? It would be nice if you could help somebody without running into him.'

Sherlock smiled. 'Come on, Henry's problem last year wasn't Moriarty's fault. It'll be fine.'


	4. New Factors

Mrs Hudson seemed sad the morning Sherlock and John were to take the Hogwarts Express to the castle, back to school. John knew it was because she and Sherlock were very close; he could tell that Sherlock was also upset to be leaving the older witch. Despite not having any blood bond, John saw Mrs Hudson as more Sherlock's family than anyone else. 

'I'm gonna miss you boys,' she said sadly, as she walked with them through King's Cross Station.

'We'll miss you too, Mrs H,' John replied. She smiled at him fondly. 

'It was lovely having you over, John. We'll have to have you again soon.'

John nodded and Sherlock spoke up. 'If I'm back at Baker Street for Christmas, I'll be sure to drag him along with me.'

Mrs Hudson chuckled and then pulled John in a hug. 'Keep him safe, John. And yourself as well.'

'I will,' John promised, squeezing her gently and then letting her go so she could hug Sherlock.

'Be safe, Sherlock.' Her eyes looked sad as she looked him over before hugging him tightly. Sherlock hugged back and kissed her on the cheek. 'Be careful.'

'I will, Mrs Hudson,' he said fondly, before letting go of her and stepping back to John.

'And you'd better write, Sherlock Holmes,' Mrs Hudson said, as they boarded the train. John looked to see Sherlock wave at her, and saw Sherlock's eyes were slightly wet. 

'C'mon, we should try to find Victor and get a compartment,' John said, nudging his friend. Sherlock nodded, clearing his throat.

They found him sitting in a compartment next to Molly Hooper, who had her hand on his shoulder, seemingly soothingly. John looked at Sherlock and managed to catch the look of concern that flashed across his friend's features before he tapped on the sliding door and the two looked up at them.

A grin broke out across Victor's face and he jumped up as Sherlock and John came in. 'Hi Sherlock, hi John!'

'Hey, how've you been?' John asked, smiling back at Victor. He looked tired, that John could tell. 

'Fine, I've been alright. What about you?'

As John and Victor settled into chatting, Molly pulled Sherlock into the corridor. 'You need to keep an eye on him.' She looked serious.

'He's my boyfriend, of course I'm gonna keep an eye on him,' Sherlock said, sounding surprised, but Molly cut him off.

'Sherlock, he's not okay, and you need to realise that. I don't care if you like to pretend that you don't care about everyone who cares for you, though John definitely deserves better, but Victor isn't okay and he needs to know that you're there for him. He needs someone to help him, and I don't think John and I can do that.' She looked at him. 'I know you were bad off last year-'

'Molly.' Sherlock said warningly.

'And I think you can help him,' Molly continued, her voice wavering. She sighed. 'See you, Sherlock.'

Sherlock swore under his breath, his mind racing slightly. Then he turned and slipped back into the compartment, plastering a smile on his face and hugging Victor as tightly as he could. Victor hugged him back. 'It's good to see you too, Sherlock,' he chuckled.

They sat and almost immediately got into a discussion about Quidditch, classes, and homework. John watched Sherlock, who seemed to be watching Victor closely. He wondered if Molly had said something to Sherlock in the corridor that had the boy so concerned.

'Oh, so you remember Irene Adler?' Sherlock asked Victor, who pulled a face.

'Yeah the girl who decided to rudely kiss you after the match you won last year, of course I do.' He smiled at Sherlock. 'Did you find something out about her?'

'My brother's set John and me on her,' Sherlock said, grinning at John.

'Yeah she's got something that someone who works with Mycroft needs.'

Victor tilted his head. 'Hmm. Bet you're gonna have to break into the Ravenclaw common room; that won't be easy.'

'I want to make sure she's not the type to carry important things everywhere with her before I decide to go in a dormitory with the likes of Jim Moriarty and his friends,' Sherlock said. 'And I may not even have to break in.'

'Why wouldn't you need to break in?' Victor asked curiously. Sherlock grinned and John sighed, remembering their first year.

'He's got people in all the houses who can give him the password if he needs; I saw him do it our first year.'

'Carl Powers?' Victor asked, putting things together.

Sherlock's smile faded and he nodded quietly. Victor swallowed visibly and held Sherlock's hand, one of his fingers tracing over the back of it soothingly. 'Sorry,' he said softly.

Sherlock shook his head and managed to change the subject fairly easily. The three sat for most of the ride, talking happily, any dangers or depressing subjects naturally avoided. They were close to Hogwarts when Sherlock excused himself for a while, saying he needed to find someone. John assumed it had something to do with Irene Adler or Moriarty, but as much as he wanted to go with his friend, he also wanted to use the chance of him and Victor seated without Sherlock to ask how Victor was doing without concerning Sherlock-if that was a danger.

'So, everything okay with you?' John asked, watching Victor. 'I mean, honestly? Sherlock said your family was having issues.'

'Does he like telling you everything about everyone?' Victor's voice was low and John realised he may have made a bad move.

'No, no he doesn't. I think he's worried, that's all, and didn't know what to do. Sometimes he needs to talk to someone to work through what he's thinking through.' John shook his head. 'Sorry, I just ... I want to make sure you're okay, cos you're both my friends.'

'No...sorry, John, I shouldn't be getting angry with you.' Victor laughed shakily. 'My father's in a dangerous job, and my mum's been really sick and worrying about him really isn't helping her, and my sister's alot younger so I have no idea what she would do if ... if anything happened.' He looked up at John and met the boy's eyes. 'I know Sherlock's worried, but I also know that he really can't...understand, not fully at least. From what I've heard, his family's been pretty shit.'

John laughed hollowly. 'Yeah, I know.' He sighed. 'Listen, if you need anything...'

'I know.' Victor smiled faintly. 'Thank you, John. You're a good friend. I'm glad Sherlock has someone like you.'

'And you too; you helped him out alot last year. He was afraid that you wouldn't want to be with him.' John had frowned at Victor's statement, but let it pass.

'Really?' Victor laughed. 'Idiot.'

'Who is?' Sherlock's voice preceded him into the compartment and he slid into the seat next to Victor, looking from his boyfriend to John.

'Everyone, according to you,' Victor said, kissing Sherlock on the forehead. 'We need to change; we're almost at Hogsmeade.'

Soon after, they were seated in the carriages, heading towards the castle. John saw Sherlock watching the front of the carriages, where there would have been horses if the carriages had been pulled by anything.

'What are you looking at?' John asked, seeing Sherlock jump slightly, as if he'd been deep in thought.

'Ah...nothing.' Sherlock waved his hand.

But before they headed towards the castle, John saw Sherlock reach his hand up, as if petting the face of an invisible horse.

'What?' Sherlock asked, seeing John watching him as he hurried to catch up.

'You okay?'

'Why wouldn't I be?' Sherlock looked confused. John gave a half-smile, but still had his brow furrowed. 

'It looked like you were...erm petting something that isn't there.'

'Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there.'

John looked over at Sherlock and saw the boy watching him closely. 'What do you mean?'

'Thestrals, John. They're what pull the carriages. They're not invisible, but only certain people can see them.' Sherlock smiled at John. 'Come on, lets get to the feast.'

'Wait, Sherlock-' John sighed, and hurried to catch up to his friend, knowing by now that, for now, he would have to wait for more of an explanation.

When they entered, both John and Sherlock immediately looked up to the high table at the front of the hall, and saw Moriarty, idly watching the students file in. Then he met Sherlock's eyes and a lazy grin spread across the now-professor's face. John looked at Sherlock and saw his friend's face set, a determined glint in his eye.

'Sherlock-' John grabbed Sherlock's arm and Sherlock pulled away from him quickly, surprised by the sudden touch. 'Sorry,' John said quickly, and Sherlock shook his head. 'Don't rush into things with Moriarty this year-especially when you have Irene Adler to worry about.'

Sherlock smiled tightly as they took their seats at the table. 'It'll be fine, John. He and I have had this year coming for a long time now. I can take on whatever comes.'

But as John listened to Dumbledore's opening speech (something about difficult times bringing out the best in people, or so John thought; he wasn't paying Dumbledore much attention), he knew that nothing about Sherlock's situation was going to be easy this year. He was confident in his friend's ability to overcome the worst-Sherlock had been to hell and back over the course of his short lifetime-but John was worried that Moriarty might still prove to be the most difficult obstacle for Sherlock to overcome.


	5. Professor Moriarty

'How early did you guys get up?' John asked Sherlock and Victor, who were sitting on one of the sofas in the common room, waiting for John. He'd awoken 15 minutes ago to find both their beds empty, and had gotten ready early, hoping they hadn't left for breakfast without him. He'd also noted that Sherlock had sat up a chess board next to his bed, and was curious as to why it was there; it definitely wasn't a place to play chess, and even if it were, Sherlock had told John their first year that he couldn't find anyone to play against him since no one was a challenge. 

'Not too long ago,' Victor said, grinning. 'Well, not me. Sherlock was up before me.'

'Breakfast?' Sherlock suggested, and the three went down to the Great Hall together.

The three of them got their schedules for McGonagall almost as soon as they sat down. Dismayed, John said, 'Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing today.'

Sherlock gave a heavy sigh and then nodded. 'And then Potions.'

'Well, at least you'll be happy in one class today.' Victor smiled faintly at Sherlock. 'Do we call him Professor Moriarty now?'

'Sounds sinister,' John commented. 'I suppose we'll have to, won't we?'

'Hmm.' Sherlock smirked. 'I think I'll still call him Jim to his face whenever I get the chance. It'll be more fun to annoy him in front of his own class. What?' he asked, looking around and seeing John and Victor's nervous looks.

'You could get into trouble-'

'-Or worse,' John finished, exchanging an uneasy look with Victor.

But when they got to Moriarty's class, Sherlock and the now professor made eye contact straight away. Moriarty ignored it and Sherlock smirked a bit as he took his seat.

'Right. Forth years.' Moriarty sounded extremely bored as he addressed the class. John felt as if he was going out of his way to avoid looking at their back corner with Sherlock, but it could have been the his imagination. 'I know having a different professor every year makes things strange, and I'm going to add to that. Besides that, next year _most_ of you will be taking your O.W.L.s, so this year is going to pick of the pace a bit. You probably won't be used to it, or like it, but that's how it has to be if you want to pass the tests next year.' He sighed and slid his hands into his pockets, smiling faintly. 'Today we're gonna take notes. Boring, but it's got to be done.' And he moved back up to the front of the classroom and started putting things on the chalkboard.

John shot Sherlock a look and saw his friend watching Moriarty intently. Then he looked down to see a note in Victor's neat writing in front of him.

_More laid-back than I would have expected. What's his game?_

It was odd because neither of them could talk to Sherlock-the only person whose theories the two would trust, until the end of class and Sherlock seemed too engrossed in Moriarty to even pass notes between the three of them.

 _I don't know_ John scribbled quickly _I don't think he was ever a bad student, though, so maybe he's actually gonna teach an actual class. Maybe we've got it all wrong and Moriarty won't even-_

Sherlock bent over John's note with his quill, scrawling in

_No, he and I talked at the end of last year. This year's definitely the year that he's going after-_

'Mr Holmes, Mr Watson, would you mind not sharing love notes in class?'

John recognized Sally's snort from the front of the room. He met Moriarty's eyes evenly.

'Sorry, next time you're gonna have to read it to the class, and we all would rather be spared that experience, wouldn't we?' He made a quite, joking retching sound as he summoned the paper to him. His eyes darted over it swiftly and then a soft chuckle emitted from the man's throat. 'I'll be nice if you pay attention and let you three off without detention.' He sighed. 'Trevor, these two can be trouble. I don't know if they're the best sort of people to be hanging around with.'

'That's not really your decision, sir,' Victor said quietly, and Moriarty smiled faintly.

'As I was saying...'

John felt Sherlock jerk beside him and looked over to see him clutching Victor's hand tightly, his face set in anger. Victor noticed John's look and frowned at him, looking from Sherlock's angered face to John in concern. John shrugged and tried to go back to paying attention, thinking that although it was bad to be comforted by the fact that Moriarty was embarrassing Sherlock to the class, it at least meant that their fears weren't completely groundless. John only hoped that nothing would get worse in the coming lessons.

 

'He's a complete git,' Victor said, sounding more angry than John had ever heard him.

Sherlock nodded. 'Not the worst he could have done, but still.' He turned so he was standing in front of Victor. 'He is correct, however, John and I aren;t the best people to be around. Well, more specifically me, most of the things that happen are entirely my fault, but John punched Moriarty within five minutes of meeting him our first year and I don't think he'll forgive that easily.' He looked at Victor intently. 'You're more than welcome to leave me and protect yourself from any further embarrassment or worse from him.'

Victor shook his head. 'You're an idiot if you think I'll leave you because of him.' He took Sherlock's hand. 'Come on.'

But John saw a strange look pass over Sherlock's face and was reminded of the last time that someone had aided them-Carl Powers had annoyed Moriarty and had paid the price for snooping around and laughing at the young man. John tried to reassure himself that things would be different this time, but he couldn't help the sense of dread raising in the pit of his stomach.


	6. A Meeting with Irene Adler

'If Moriarty does anything, it'll be killing us with homework,' John grumbled. September had flown by very quickly and Quidditch practices had resumed. On top of nearly nightly training with the team, Sherlock and John had been pelted with homework since the first day.

'Teachers are really serious about preparing us for the OWLs next year,' Victor sighed.

Sherlock came into the dormitory scowling darkly. He threw himself into the chair next to Victor and closed his eyes.

'What's going on?' Victor asked, looking concerned. Sherlock, of all the fits of extreme emotions that he was prone to, wasn't one to have fits of anger.

'Some idiot's accused me of cheating in McGonagall's class.' He put his head back. 'She didn't believe them, but asked me about it anyways. It was annoying.'

'That's ridiculous,' Victor said, rubbing Sherlock's shoulder. 'Probably some jealous Ravenclaw-wonder if it was Sally.'

John shook his head. 'Probably not. But still the stupidest thing. On top of everything you've got to deal with...'

'Mmm...' Sherlock sounded tired. 'I'm meeting with Irene Adler tomorrow, by the way.'

'When?' Victor asked. 'Do you want us to come?'

'You have class,' Sherlock said, sitting up and looking at John. 'So it's up to John if he wants to come.'

'Of course I'll come,' John said quickly. 'We'll fill you in with whatever we learn,' he added to Victor. Victor nodded silently and John watched Sherlock grab his hand. For Sherlock, it seemed to be a protective movement-he seemed to need and want Victor with him as often as possible.

John hoped it wouldn't end.

 

'Mr Sherlock Holmes.' Irene Adler's voice was a quiet purr from where she sat on the desk in the empty fifth floor classroom. 'And you brought a friend.'

'Ms Alder,' Sherlock said, the corners of his mouth perking up slightly.

John decided that Irene Adler was probably the most attractive woman he'd ever met-black hair tied behind her head, thin pale face with thin red lips, already very developed body for a sixteen year old complimented well by the way she wore her skirt and Slytherin uniform. 

She slid off the desk and wandered to Sherlock-John registered that she wasn't wearing any shoes-and very slowly and deliberately pulled the green tie away from her neck, draping it over the tall boy's left shoulder.

'I do hope Mr Trevor isn't jealous of us meeting like this, Sherlock dear.'

'There's no need to drop the formalities; it's not clear if we're going to be on good terms by the end of our discussion,' Sherlock said smoothly.

'Are you jealous, John?' Irene asked, turning to John, her hand going for Sherlock's waist. John shook his head, knowing Sherlock wouldn't like what she was doing.

Sherlock shivered slightly and her intense eyes left John's for a moment to study Sherlock. Then she looked at John, reading the want in his face to pull her away from Sherlock correctly. 'He doesn't like to be touched,' she said, mimicking John's style of speech. 'Very protective of him-are you sure there's nothing between you two?'

'He's seeing Victor,' John said firmly. 

'And we're not here about that,' Sherlock said tightly. 

'Yeah. You want those photos from me, but that won't happen-I'd rather just have a nice chat and leave as unlikely friends.'

'Did you even bring the photos?' John asked. He didn't know if he was annoyed or not. Sherlock looked vaguely interested.

Irene shook her head. 'No they're in my dormitory, like they always are. I know for sure that they're safe there, and wouldn't be safe here.' She looked at Sherlock. 'They can't honestly bother you-the photos.'

'No but they bother my brother and seeing as his rise to power in the Ministry isn't a joke, I'd rather not annoy him of anyone he works with--if I can help it. I've got better things to do with my time. Besides, it's a challenge.'

Irene smiled. 'Hmm is that how you see me?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'I definitely see you that way.'

'I don't think I'm you're type,' Sherlock said evenly. 'Well, seeing as we're not getting the photos today, I'm going to have to leave for now. It was nice meeting you.'

John nodded to Irene and she winked at him before striding past them out the door.

'I don't want to negotiate, Sherlock. If you want those photos, you'll have to be much more clever.'

 

Sherlock was still smirking slightly as they went back to the common room to wait for Victor before getting dinner.

'Did you really like her that much?' John asked. 

Sherlock shrugged. 'She's interesting. And anyways, I can't just sit around waiting for Moriarty to make some move; my brother said she was working with some sort of connection to him--she could prove useful.'

'Did it go that well?' Victor's voice sounded from the opening behind the fat lady's portrait. He walked towards them, looking expectant.

'We didn't get anything from her,' John said. Victor shrugged.

'But Sherlock sounds interested.'

'Yes.' Sherlock looked at Victor. 'She's interesting.'

'Despite kissing you last year, I have to admire a woman who can make you interested in any part of her,' Victor grinned cheekily.

'I think she was flirting today as well. Though she seemed to think John and I were the couple.'

Victor chuckled. 'You are pretty close. Everyone else makes the mistake anyways. I'd just rather not have any competition from her,' Victor said. 'I might get jealous.' He smiled. 'Dinner guys?'

 

Sherlock was late out of the locker room after Quidditch practice and joined John in his walk back to the castle with a quickly swelling black eye and a bloody nose.

'Shit,' John hissed, making Sherlock stop walking to he could see if Sherlock's nose was broken. 'Slytherin team jealous?'

Sherlock nodded. 'They told me I shouldn't play the next game. I think they think I'm gonna win it for Gryffindor.'

'Well, yeah,' John said, looking over Sherlock. His nose wasn't broken, but the eye was already nearly swollen shut. 'You're the best player on our team. You need ice,' he commented.

'I think everyone here puts too much stock in sports,' Sherlock groaned as they started walking again.

'Be thankful it's not anything worse,' John told him. Sherlock shook his head.

'It's stupid. I get attacked over a game instead of by Moriarty. I kind of want to go to him and start something after class. I'm getting sick of waiting.'

'Just enjoy it while it lasts,' John advised. 'And make sure I'm with you all during practice next time. I don't want you getting hurt again.'

'No, not before the game,' Sherlock said lowly.

'I care about you, thickhead, not the stupid game. I'd ask you to quit but you'd go on about something or other and stay anyways.'

'You wanted me to play-'

'I'm not forcing you to-'

'But you want me to-'

John made a frustrated noise. Sherlock twitched a smile. 

'I'm gonna keep playing unless things get to be too much with Moriarty,' Sherlock said firmly. He was quiet for a while then- 'Just don't tell Victor this was over Quidditch. He'd get upset.'

John sighed and nodded as they walked into the castle and headed back to the common room for tonight. He hoped things would settle down instead of pick up, but that was probably asking for too much.


	7. A Self-Portrait

October had set in before John had realized, leaves falling and the air turning more brisk and chilly. Soon was to be the first Hogsmeade visit of the year-something Victor wanted badly, as it was hard for him and Sherlock to go on a proper date in the castle. 'We can't have a romantic dinner over astronomy charts,' he'd said jokingly one day. John was glad that the pair would have time to themselves.

Also soon was the first Quidditch match of the season. To John's knowledge, Sherlock hadn't been threatened since the one practice, but he was still nervous for his friend. Anytime Sherlock was physically assaulted over something foretold bad things.

It was late one afternoon that another problem again confronted Sherlock.

'Why the hell do so many people think you're cheating all the sudden?' John asked Sherlock as they walked out of the greenhouse with Victor, all three of them upset that Sherlock had for the third time been called back by a teacher. None of the professors seemed to think that the rumors were true, but said that they needed to address what they'd been hearing.

'No idea,' Sherlock muttered. John could tell he was bothered. And thinking.

'The problem is, that although your marks are low in a few classes, everyone knows that you're a genius at them. So...' Victor looked off across the grounds, looking upset, 'if a bigger deal were made of this, that would only go against you.'

John frowned, not having thought of that. 'You need to be more careful.'

'I'll just keep doing what I'm doing,' Sherlock said. He looked at John. 'It's not like I've much to hide anyway.'

 

But that night at dinner things changed again, and John wasn't sure how to respond to them.

'You never seemed the kind of guy to end up in the papers,' Bill Murray said as he took a seat next to Victor. John looked over. It had been a while since Bill had eaten with them, mainly because he and Sherlock weren't on more friendly terms. 'Sherlock, I mean you. Meant to ask you this morning, but never got to it.'

'What do you-?' Bill passed the paper in front of Sherlock; Victor and John both bent closer to read it with their friend.

'SHERLOCK HOLMES, SAVIOR OF MAGICAL POLICE?' it read.

'Didn't think anyone knew about that,' John said, looking up, trying to gage Sherlock's expression.

'No, Lestrade wanted it between us.' Sherlock was frowning deeply now. John went to read more of the article.

 _...supposed genius at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Sherlock Holmes has proven to have other talents-those pertaining to magical law...Seems to have been aiding investigations with Inspector Lestrade and his colleagues....the inspector was unavailable for comment but other sources have confirmed Holmes' work with the police...Holmes is also reportedly a student who aided in the exposure of two Hogwarts teachers as criminals, and some business down at Baskerville. Henry Baskerville is a student with Holmes. We are awaiting a response from young Sir Henry as of now...One only can wonder if Sherlock Holmes is as smart as rumors say, or if it's all a big hoax-one that makes Holmes look very good, and many rightly-named professionals look bad..._.

'This is completely stupid,' Victor said angrily. 'Where did they get any of this information?' He looked at Sherlock, concerned. 'You're not faking anything!'

Sherlock frowned, biting his lip slightly. 'I don't know....' He thought for a bit. 'It's just a stupid newspaper though, not much I can do.'

John opened his mouth to protest and Sherlock sighed loudly. 'Leave it John. It'll probably pass over, and anyways, we've got things here to worry about.'

'What, Irene Adler, or Moriarty?' Victor asked.

'Irene, for now.' Sherlock sat back. 'I'm going to try to pay her a visit tomorrow and hopefully get what my brother wants-he's been too nagging lately...'

'Can we help?' John asked, looking at Victor, who nodded. Sherlock nodded as well.

'We're going during dinner; less people to interrupt. If you don't mind breaking rules, you both could help.'

John and Victor both agreed.

'Gonna come work on potions with us?' John asked, when Sherlock made to go a different way other than up to the seventh floor.

'Yeah, in a bit. I need to send an owl first,' Sherlock said. John hoped it would be to Lestrade to ask about the news article.

The next day at breakfast, Victor received a letter that made his face drop and his eyes look anxious. 'Sorry, I gotta...' he stood quickly and Sherlock looked up in alarm.

'Do you...do you need...?' Victor shook his head and moved away so Sherlock's hand on his arm dropped. 

'I need to leave I...' Victor swallowed. 'I won't be able to come with you guys with the Irene thing...sorry...'

Sherlock looked at John, scared. He wouldn't admit it to his friend, but John could read the panic in his eyes. 'Hang on,' John said, swinging a leg over the wooden bench. 'I'll see.'

 

John ran after Victor and met up with him in the corridor, where Victor was looking panicked. 'You okay?' John said cautiously.

'I...' Victor looked at John. 'Yeah...family stuff...got worse I guess.' He gave a slight smile. 'Don't worry about me, okay?'

'You...' John sighed. 'You know you can talk to me or Sherlock if...' John shrugged. 'You know.'

Victor nodded. 'Thanks, John. I'll see you later.'

John's only hope was that Victor would be alright.

After dinner, Sherlock met John in the dungeons, both of them wearing Slytherin robes. Sherlock had a silver and green scarf pulled up over his face, his hair combed and styled differently and a pair of glasses on his nose.

'Why do you need to be disguised and not me?' John asked. 

'You don't stand out that much,' Sherlock said. 'Besides, I only need a small thing done, like I told you. And anyways, the disguise is only for when we're in the common room.'

'I don't even know how you got these robes,' John muttered, looking down at his. Sherlock laughed.

'I have some from every house-you know that I have contacts who give me the passwords to the ones that require them. t's an extra precaution.' He grinned. 'Besides, I think I look awful in a red scarf. I prefer the Ravenclaw one.'

John shook his head as they stepped into the Slytherin common room.

Irene Alder was seated at a table, a silky black cat sitting on a stack of books next to her. She looked up as the came in, and seemed to stifle a laugh. Sherlock led the way over to her.

'You two look ridiculous,' she said under her breath. 'Well, not you dear,' she hesitate slightly before running a finger over Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock didn't shiver this time. 'John, though...' she shook her head. 'No you would never make a Slytherin, John Watson.' 

'So do we talk out here, or would you rather go somewhere where John isn't so out of place?' Sherlock asked.

'I think we could go up to my dorm-you know I've heard such weird stories about Gryffindor, apparently the boys aren't allowed into the girls' dormitory. Do you really feel safe enough?' Her smile made John feel uneasy.

'Why wouldn't we?' John asked.

'Haven't you heard the little nickname some have got for me here?' Irene looked put out but Sherlock spoke up.

' "La belle dame sans merci",' Sherlock said, his accent perfect. Irene nodded approvingly.

'Kate, would you mind watching Fara for me? She gets into things otherwise,' Irene said for John and Sherlock's benefit. A red-headed girl came over and sat where Irene was. John and Sherlock followed Irene into an empty dormitory. Irene immediately sat on a bed that must have been heard, and gestured to the chair next to it. Sherlock sat and John remained standing to the side of them.

'Sherlock, do you know the problem with disguises?' Irene asked casually, studying him carefully.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Not really.'

A thin smile spread out across Irene's lips. 'It's always a self-portrait. You, I could definitely see in Slytherin. You're ambitious, you protect what's your's, and you get what you want. And you're clever and confident and proud of that. So the question is-' her eyes narrowed as she leaned in towards Sherlock, 'why are you in Gryffindor?'

'Because the sorting hat put me in there.' Sherlock sounded bored; he didn't even appear to be scanning the room for any signs of the elusive photos. 'It's stupid; it could've made a mistake.'

John turned his head sharply to look at Sherlock. 'You're serious?' he asked. Sherlock didn't look at him.

'No but that's not it,' Irene said. 'See-'

'Why do you care?' Sherlock cut her off. 'You know why I'm here.'

'Yeah but you're not gonna find the photos and again, chatting might lead to us departing as unlikely friends so-' Irene shurgged, making a face, '-why not?' She shifted slightly. 'So anyways, the sorting hat apparently puts us in houses for a reason, so what's your's?'

Sherlock stood and put his hands in the pockets of his robes. 'You'll never figure it out. I know the photos are in this room, I know why you're a Slytherin and not a Ravenclaw, and I know that you don't really want to blackmail anyone with the photos, you want something more.'

Irene blinked. 'How?'

Sherlock smirked. 'So...they're somewhere in here. John, mind manning the door?'

John walked out and closed the door behind him as Sherlock began to study the bedside table. Outside, a girl about John's height with light blond hair passed him in the hall. She gave him a second glance, looking slightly confused, but then smiled warmly at him. John found himself smiling back.

'So, why Gryffindor and not Slytherin?' Sherlock asked, pacing Irene's dormitory and looking around seriously now, but also keeping a watchful eye on Irene.

'Oh!' Irene started and frowned at him. 'I thought we were doing the photos now.'

'I am,' Sherlock said. 'But also passing the time. Who knows, we might part as unlikely friends.' He winked at Irene and she frowned at him. 'Why do you think Gryffindor and not Slytherin?'

Irene looked at him for a while and then shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'Oh, come on, you seem to have an answer for everything, and I think like me you'd rather have answers to everything. Why do you think I'm up on the seventh floor with John and not down here with you?'

Irene looked thoughtful for a while and a smile spread to the corner of her mouth. But before she could say anything, shouts of 'FIRE!' came from the hall.

Immediately, Irene's eyes went to her bed and she moved to get up.

'Thank you,' Sherlock said smoothly, and Irene blinked, in a move to duck under the bed, now noticing a split second too late that Sherlock wasn't moving towards the door, and that the sounds of commotion from outside had died out quickly.

'Oh _shit_ Irene whispered and Sherlock grinned.

'Noises are important. That's the problem with hiding important things; as soon as they're at risk, you're gonna run to get them.' He bent down and carefully slid out a small trunk. 'Alohomora,' he said faintly, and opened the chest as John slipped in.

'Got them?' he asked. John walked over to peer over Sherlock's shoulder and frowned. 'I thought-'

'Well, of course you would think that,' Sherlock said sardonically, cutting Irene off before she could talk and looking up from the few trace items in the box to spare a look at John. John knew that look. Sherlock was about to do something impressive, showing how he'd seen something other's would've missed. John hated that look, but he also loved it more than anything else. Sherlock smirked. 'The chest is alot deeper then what we're seeing here,' he said, as he cleared out the papers and the potion vial from the chest. John snuck a glance at Irene; she looked torn between pleased and horrified. 'Aparecium,' Sherlock said. A handle was instantly revealed at what John had thought was the bottom of the chest.

'False bottom,' John said, amazed.

Sherlock nodded and pulled out a folder full of parchment and photos. 'Wonder if my brother would want to get his hand on anything else in here besides those photos?' Sherlock mused out loud. 'We'll have to find out-'

'Don't-' Irene said. 'Please. I need what's in there. For protection.'

'Not anymore,' Sherlock muttered. He stood swiftly and walked out, John following him.

'Sherlock!' Irene called, when they were out in the dungeon corridor. John had time to register that she'd followed them this far before Sherlock was throw off his feet and John fell to the floor, paralyzed. 

Sherlock swore, scrambling to stand, but Irene bent over him and he trembled before he felt a prick in his arm. 'What-?' he asked, trying to move so she wasn't on top of him anymore.

'Hmm I heard about that little drug incident 2 years ago but I had no idea you were this strong,' Irene mused, before pulling the folder from Sherlock's hands. Sherlock struggled to stand but crashed back to the floor, gagging slightly.

'Sorry, dear,' Irene said softly, watching him. 'Tell that brother of yours' that you were right; I'm not using those photos for black mail. But I need them-and this folder's contents.' She sighed. 'I'll let John up to help you-He might be sick and sleep for a few hours but he'll be fine. This is the stuff I use on my friends. Good night Mr Sherlock Holmes.' She smiled and walked away.

John was aware that he could move again and ran over to Sherlock who looked on the verge of passing out. 'Okay, stay awake if you don't want to get brought to Madam Pomfrey,' he said roughly, helping Sherlock stand up. Sherlock wavered and was almost sick on John. 

'I might throw up on you,' Sherlock warned weakly. 

'As long as we're at the dorm first,' John agreed.


	8. Where will You Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the finding of a suicide and starts the aftermath of that. Just a notice in case you're sensitive to that subject matter.

'I told you-those damn photos are fine.'

'Do you really trust this girl? Because we could always-'

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his chair. 'Listen, I know you and your "people" and most of all how this works. You go storming into Hogwarts after one teenage girl. It makes a scene, it turns the parents against Ministry officials-even if you're not one specifically, you know who they'll blame-and then that's bad news for everyone. Even if the current Minister's an ass and everyone deserves to know it.'

'Sherlock, you said you wouldn't get political,' John said tiredly. It was their first trip to Hogsmeade of the year, and instead of wandering through shops before Sherlock's date with Victor, John and Sherlock had been asked-more like summoned-to one of the rooms above the Three Broomsticks to talk with Mycroft.

'Cornelius Fudge is the best that we have at the moment, given that Dumbledore still won't take the job,' Mycroft said lowly. 'I don't like it as much as you do, but given how power is dealt out here, we may be stuck with him for a while.' Mycroft turned a steeled eye to Sherlock. 'One word that those photos aren't in safe hands, Sherlock-'

'Yeah, yeah.' Sherlock waved a hand and stood. 'I know. Try not to give me anymore chores, Mycroft. You know what's at stake now.'

John frowned as they exited the pub. 'What's at stake?'

Sherlock pulled a face. 'Crimes outside Hogwarts have gotten more serious while those inside have been reduced to almost nothing. And the problem is, even if it is Moriarty, while he's still a Hogwarts teacher, it's hard to prove anything against him...'

'You'll think of something,' John said. 'Lestrade's aware of it all, right?'

Sherlock nodded. 'As much of it as he can be.' He checked his watch. 'I'm gonna go back in and wait for Victor.'

'Okay. See you up at the castle tonight.'

John felt that Sherlock was giving him as much information as he could without giving away something key to the problem. And while John was glad that Sherlock was mostly trusting him, he wanted to be let in to know what was really going on. The problem was that he couldn't do much on his own, because his only real connection to Moriarty was through Sherlock. John knew that the now professor would hardly spend the time on him alone.

All he could do was wait.

 

Sherlock looked away from one of the photos on Moriarty's office walls. 'I was kind of hoping to have heard from you by now.' Moriarty was watching him closely, but still not speaking. 'I thought this was going to be "our year".'

Slowly and rhythmically, Moriarty cracked his neck. Then he sighed. 'Sherlock. Why don't you play your Quidditch and study for your classes? This is in no way a two-men's chess game. We may be the leaders of each side, but the pieces have minds of their own. And not all of them bend to either of our will.'

'So what -or who- are you waiting for?' Sherlock asked carefully.

Moriarty smiled. 'You'll know it when it happens. There's a few pieces that need to fall-and they'll fall Sherlock, one way or another. After that, this little game of ours begins.'

'Does it have to do with Irene Adler?'

'Hmm.' Moriarty blinked and sat at his desk. 'She's a strange one, isn't she? Didn't let me down when you two had your battle over the photos. Why do you ask?'

'When I was asked to intervene with her, your name came up along with the problem.' Sherlock shrugged. 'Passing interest. I don't plan on trusting her but "the enemy of my enemy" and all that...'

Moriarty simply smiled. 'Stay on your guard. Those pieces fall and you're not gonna want to think about class or flying-or probably even me. And...' Moriarty tilted his head and Sherlock didn't like his smile. 'That's why I won't let up after that.'

'So why tell me that your full assault comes after this...whatever you think's gonna happen?'

'Consider it a handicap.' Sherlock blinked. 'I saw you, Sherlock, don't forget, at moments of your worst last year. This year let's say I've learned a few things.'

'Have a good afternoon, Jim.' Sherlock turned and walked out, wishing his meeting had been more productive.

He was having a good year between Victor and everything else-though he was beginning to think having Victor around might put the other boy in danger. The same with John. But where he could convince Victor to leave, John would remain. Victor had gone home for the weekend because of whatever had happened with his family-something that rarely happened except for emergencies, as far as Sherlock knew. He didn't think that he would want to burden Victor with anything else. Sherlock didn't think it was selfish to wish the months like the last one would've lasted longer. Victor had been happy, Sherlock hadn't been bothered by anything more than Quidditch and Irene Adler, and John had seemed relieved that the years hadn't started for the worst.

His problem wasn't dealing with Moriarty; he was fairly confident he could do that. But only on his own. Now he had people, now he cared, and now he had things to watch out for.

And that didn't sit well with him.

 

'We're definitely gonna win this match,' John said excitedly.

Sherlock nodded as the entered through the Fat Lady's portrait. 

'Here, we're already late for the feast. Gimme your broom and wait here-it'll take me a second to throw these upstairs.'

Sherlock found himself waiting longer than a second. And even longer than he should for John to throw the brooms in their dormitory. He started up the sone steps carefully, wondering if John had forgotten something he had to do. 'John?' he called.

'Sherlock, stay where you are,' John's voice broke at the last word and Sherlock let out a breath, his heart stopping for a second in panic.

'John, what's wrong?' He didn't know whether he should move or not.

'Just-just don't come up here, stay down there and get a teacher, NOW, please...'Something in John's voice wasn't right; he only sounded like this when there was some kind of crisis.

Sherlock didn't care, he ran up the stairs. When he came to the door, he saw John through the opening, kneeling on the floor over ...someone. John turned towards Sherlock and his face turned towards panic as Sherlock stepped forward and saw-

'NO!' Sherlock screamed, somehow falling to the floor besides Victor's body, barely registering the noose that John must've cut the boy down from. 'No...No PLEASE!' There were tears in his eyes, hot and wet as he frantically pawed his once alive friend's-and boyfriend's-body.

'Sherlock-' John's arms were around him and Sherlock pressed his full limp weight into John's hold, not taking his eyes off Victor's limp and lifeless form. He couldn't breathe, this wasn't right, not Victor...

Someone must've still been in the dorm to hear them because John was frantically, but firmly telling someone to find McGonagall. 'Sherlock, try to breath, okay? C'mon look at me...' John's hands were now firmly on Sherlock's shoulders but Sherlock couldn't look away from Victor.

'Oh, god.' McGonagall had evidently been found and she swept in quickly, saying something to John that Sherlock din't care about and then her hand was on his shoulder, gently but firmly. 'Sherlock, you need to leave this room for right now, Watson will go with you...'

John tried to help him stand and Sherlock finally tore his gaze away from Victor, avoiding McGonagall's worried eyes and the eyes of the fifth year who was in the hall as he tore out of John's grip and ran-he didn't care where he was going anymore, he needed to get out.

He was dimly aware that John was running after him, but that only made him want to escape more-he was down a passageway, outside, and down across the bridge and the lawn to the lake before he even noticed where he was moving. Sherlock stopped beside the water's edge, letting the gentle waves go over the toes of his sneakers and then finally screamed out into the dark.

'Sherlock!' He closed his eyes and shuddered as John came closer but not next to him. 'Sherlock...'

Sherlock was shaking and crying uncontrollably. 'I-' Sherlock closed his eyes and bit back against another scream as he turned to face John. 'Why him?' he asked John helplessly.

The look he gave John was completely empty and defeated and John felt a lump rising quickly in his throat as he stepped over and pulled Sherlock to him tightly. 'I don't know, Sherlock...'

John knew that there was nothing either of them could do to make this right.


	9. Dealing with Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Important*  
> Contains the aftermath of a suicide.

Sherlock barely spoke that night. He didn't seem to be crying anymore either, and John wasn't sure if he should take that as a good sign or not. He knew, however, that any reaction from Sherlock was probably not going to be completely normal, and wanted to keep an eye on his friend as much as he could.

It was stupid, really, that he'd even suggested that the two of them go up to bed. It was well past midnight-the other two in their dorm had gone up a while earlier, silently. Peter had looked honestly concerned for Sherlock as he'd passed John and him in the common room, which relieved John. The last thing Sherlock would need now was any kind of word against him. 

'I can't.' Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper and John felt his stomach clench cold at how terrible Sherlock sounded. 'I can't go up there or sleep up there...'

'Okay.' John sighed, hating everything about the day. 'We can sleep down here-or not sleep.' He remembered last year, when Sherlock had witnessed his father's death, Sherlock had had difficulties with sleep. 

Sherlock hung his head. 'You don't need to stay,' he said softly. But there was a lost look to his eyes that told John Sherlock didn't mean what he was saying at all.

'Do you need me to bring you anything?' John asked.

'Another noose,' Sherlock said, his voice cracking on the second word and not even a beat had passed before John was clutching Sherlock to his chest as his friend broke into silent tears. 

'I'm sorry Sherlock, I'm so sorry.' John could only hug his friend as tightly as he could and pray that Sherlock would get through this.

 

'You ready to go up?'

John had sat with Sherlock at breakfast watching his friend sit and not eat for twenty minutes before deciding that it was time to give up. Not that he'd expected Sherlock to eat, or that John had eaten much more, but he'd still hoped for the best.

Inspector Lestrade had been called down to deal with the fallout of the events from the day before, and wanted to talk with Sherlock-and John as well. John was only hoping for Sherlock's sake that it would be a reason for Lestrade to check up on Sherlock-the two were close and John didn't know where else to go without potentially worrying Mrs Hudson more than necessary.

'Don't even know why he's here-it was a suicide not a murder.' Sherlock sighed angrily. 'It was the same thing when my father died-they sent muggle police and magic law and there was no point to it really. Dead by his own hand. End of story.'

'I think they just want to have a clear story of what happened to give to everyone...he...knew,' John said patiently. Sherlock tended to lash out and say insensitive things when he was dealing with anything more than normal. 'I think people just want to find the truth in these things, you know...'

Sherlock sighed heavily as they neared McGonagall's office. 'Go on in and tell Lestrade I just need a minute.'

John didn't know if Sherlock looked angry or bothered, but he knew that asking at this point wouldn't do as much help as respecting what Sherlock asked of him so he entered the office without question.

'Oh my god, Sherlock.'

Sherlock turned around, bringing his arm down from wiping his eyes with his sleeve, hoping some stupid idiot hadn't caught him crying. But it was only Molly Hooper. For some reason, seeing her in a cat jumper seemed so ridiculous that he wanted to laugh. Emotions were stupid in times of struggle, he realized. But Molly's eyes had gone red and she looked as if she might cry, and Sherlock going into hysterics right in front of her probably wasn't going to help.

'Sherlock, I'm so sorry.' Her voice wavered a bit but she kept from crying.

'It's-' Sherlock cleared his throat trying to disguise the change in pitch. 'It's...I'm alright-' But Molly's lower lip was wavering and before he knew it she was on her toes, her arms around his chest, hugging him tightly.

'If you need anything,' she said, voice unsteady. 'Anything at all-'

'What would I need?' he asked quietly. The dark noose line wouldn't have gone over well with Molly. He would only voice that sort of thought to John because John understood that Sherlock wanted it but wouldn't. Molly however would take it wrong and cry and panic and that wasn't what Sherlock wanted.

'I don't know.' Molly let go of his gently and shrugged. 'Just...if you do. I'm here.'

'I-'

'It's fine,' Molly said sadly, and seemed to attempt a bracing smile. 'You're here to see that detective right? I hope everything goes alright. I'll see you later.' And Sherlock watched as she hurried away, feeling sadness culminate in the pit off his stomach. He took a moment to collect himself before opening the door.

'Hey son, how're you doing?' Lestrade was seated at McGonagall's desk, looking somber, John in one of the chairs before him, turned around to look at Sherlock. McGonagall herself stood to the side, wearing an expression of sympathy that Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted.

'I'll leave you to it then,' McGonagall said softly and strode to the door, pausing for a half second to lay her hand on Sherlock's shoulder as some sign of sympathy and comfort before she left.

Sherlock took the seat next to John and tried to ignore his friend's worried glances in his direction. He looked at Lestrade, who was looking at him closely.

'Never understood this,' Sherlock said. 'Investigations department at a suicide. Kinda pointless, don't you think?' He looked at Lestrade.

Lestrade sat down, sighing sadly. 'Murders aren't the only mysteries that involve death...' He looked at Sherlock. 'Mr Trevor didn't leave a note in our case.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Doesn't surprise me.'

'Why?' Lestrade frowned.

'He was a spur of the moment person. Even if he'd been planning to ...do what he did for weeks, the decision would've been made relatively quickly. He was confident in what he did...a note suggests more planning than he would've done.'

John was staring at him, he knew it. And he hated it.

'So...I guess you knew about the troubles he was having with his family then?'

Sherlock nodded and John spoke up. 'Some of it.'

'His dad was dealing with dangerous stuff and his mum was getting sick...' Sherlock muttered.

Lestrade nodded. 'His father died recently and his mother hadn't been taking it well...his younger sister's been staying with a relative while everything was being sorted.' Lestrade sighed. 'Seemed like he was just done with the situation.'

'So you haven't come to tell us anything useful?' Sherlock asked quietly.

John could've kicked him had he not known better.

Lestrade sighed. 'I suppose not. I would still wanna talk with you for a bit-John, you're welcome to head back to your dorm-I'd rather talk to Sherlock by himself for a bit if that's alright.'

John looked at Sherlock who nodded. He looked better than he did this morning, so John left the room feeling okay with the situation.

'So, how are you, really?' Lestrade asked.

Sherlock leaned his head back and shifted in his chair. 'All things considered, I think all the reactions I'm having and emotions that I'm feeling are completely normal.' He sighed. 'So yeah, a bit not so good.'

Lestrade nodded. 'Okay.' He met Sherlock's eyes for a while. 'Do you need anything? Is that brother of yours likely to bother you about this?'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Not unless I do something drastic that'll cause him to think something's wrong with me.'

'As long as I'm not getting an owl telling me John's found your body,' Lestrade said.

There was a lightness to his voice that Sherlock appreciated. 'Not likely,' he said truthfully. 'Did you look into those cases I pointed out?'

'Yeah.' Lestrade sat back, looking more relaxed at the subject change. 'Although you were right, they do look like they're the work of someone else planning these things, we've got no proof or evidence of anything more.' He closed his eyes. 'Just don't do anything on your own without coming to me first, okay? I know you've got your suspicions, but if we don't do things by the book, it'll look bad for everyone involved.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Oh, that case you were teaming up with Jones for a couple days ago-the Garrison's are the ones you should be checking out. I'll send you an owl with the old Prophet clippings I dug up if you want.'

'Do you ever stop?' Lestrade asked, shaking his head.

Sherlock frowned and looked away. 'I don't know what'll happen if I don't,' he said quietly.

Lestrade stood and crossed the room to put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. 'You're gonna be fine, Sherlock. You know where to get me if you need or want anything. Even cases, if that'll help.'

'Thank you,' Sherlock said honestly. For some reason the offer of 'if you need anything' sounded more genuine coming from Lestrade.

'Anytime. Go on and catch up with John, I still need to finish up here.'

'You okay?' John asked as soon as Sherlock reached the dormitory.

Sherlock nodded absently. 

'Did Lestrade help at all?'

'Yeah...' Sherlock looked at John. 'His brand of worrying is something I'm better at dealing with than other people's-except yours, but only because I'm used to you by now.'

'You gonna write Mycroft about this?' John hated bringing it up, because he knew Sherlock and his brother were hardly at a good place with each other.

Sherlock shook his head. 'No, but Bell and Mrs Hudson yes. She'll find out through something in the paper otherwise, and he'll find out through Mycroft and I hate Mycroft being the only one contacting Bell about things that affect me.

John nodded.

'I'm still not gonna sleep upstairs for a bit,' Sherlock said quietly.

'That's fine,' John said honestly. 'If you don't want to go up there, I'll definitely get your things for you when you need them.

Sherlock nodded. 'Thanks John.'


	10. Seasons' Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *contains talk of suicidal ideation*  
> Assume for most of the rest of year 4 there will be some kind of reference to suicide or the aftermath of.

'You know it's quite a long way down from up there...'

Sherlock turned his head to watch Irene walk over to him from where he sat on the parapet. 'I'm aware of how heights work.'

She smirked at him and he turned back to looking out across the rooftops of the castle. 'Is that how you'd do it then? No rope and no struggle?' She huffed almost disappointedly. 'I didn't think you'd be the type to take the easy way out.'

'You're thinking I'm going to commit suicide in my distress over Victor's death,' Sherlock said slowly. He turned to look at her. 'How romantic,' he said sardonically.

Irene shrugged and sat next to him swiftly. 'I'd say it would be boring for you to do so. Aren't there better things you could be spending your time on besides debating if you'll ever be able to slip off this wall?' She paused briefly. 'You'd be breaking John's heart anyways.'

'He'd move on.' Sherlock was certain of that. John was a fighter. No matter what happened he would keep moving on.

'Oh you poor boy, you can't see it can you?' Irene sighed. 'How you're feeling about Trevor right now is probably exactly how your John would feel if anything were to happen to you.'

'As if I was going to jump off here anyways,' Sherlock said. He turned to Irene. 'Why are you here anyways?' he was only mildly annoyed with her being there.

'Have something for you--and no, it's nothing in that file that your brother would interest himself with; I still need that.' She pulled out something reflective from her robes.

'You're seriously giving me a two-way mirror? Do you want to stay in contact with me that badly?' He turned the small mirror over in his hands.

'It's a "just in case" thing,' Irene said smoothly. 'You're probably the only person I trust here.'

Sherlock frowned at her.

'Really. Though obviously not to give that file to you. I don't trust you above myself, obviously.'

'Good to know,' Sherlock muttered.

'Also...' She hesitated. 'Well, Jim Moriarty told me to give you his love. I had some business to finish with him last week. He said he was done with me, which is a relief. I'm not too fond of him.'

Sherlock scowled. 'I've had just about enough of him to be honest with you.'

Irene smiled. 'Well, you'll have to do something about him then. Just try not to jump off any towers before then.' She grinned at him and Sherlock found himself smiling back.

He'd been treated too nicely and sensitively in the past few days following Victor's death by nearly everyone he knew. John was slightly more careful around him, Bill was being especially nice to him, Anderson and Sally were going out of their way not to be rude to him, even some of his professors were being all too lenient with him.

Irene being frank and putting up with him was a nice change. Sherlock found himself liking her alot more since their initial encounters.

'Coming up?' 

John looked up, surprised. 'You're heading up to the dormitory tonight?' 

Sherlock nodded. 'Can't sleep on the sofa forever. I'm fine,' he added, knowing John would ask.

'Okay.' John stood and followed Sherlock up the stairs, watching his friend paused briefly in the doorway, knowing the boy's eyes would be on the rafter where Victor had hung only days before. Had it been anyone else, John would've said something to reassure Sherlock, or even make the suggestion that he could sleep in the common room as long as he wanted; however, John knew that saying anything would set Sherlock off more than not.

'It's kind of stupid, when you think about it,' Sherlock commented, sliding off his robes as they got ready for bed.

'What is?'

'Suicide.' John flinched at how casually the word was said.

'Why do you say that?' John asked slowly. He wasn't sure how to best be respectful in this situation-not that Sherlock would mind anything else, but John wanted to make sure his friend knew he was supportive.

Sherlock looked at him. 'It doesn't fix anything, it's not a rational idea.'

'Well...when you're not thinking rationally, it doesn't always look like things can be fixed.'

'True.'

'Why, what're you thinking about?' John asked curiously.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Talked with Irene Adler today. She told me not to commit suicide.' He laughed at John's expression. 'No, no...just in case you were....worried. I thought I'd try to convince you it's something that I wouldn't do.'

'I'm not gonna be worried unless you give me a reason to be,' John said simply. 'Did she tell you anything more about the files or Moriarty?'

'She's still got the files,' Sherlock said slowly. 'And she basically said hello from Moriarty. She also gave me a two-way mirror...just in case, she said.' He frowned. 'If anything, she seems to think something larger's coming up.'

Their first Quidditch match was won easily. Any doubts that anyone had about Sherlock's performance being influenced by any emotional impact from Victor's death were unfounded. They beat Ravenclaw easily by 70 points, putting then in second place to Slytherin by only ten, something Gryffindor was ecstatic about. 

'Hufflepuff won't have a chance next match if you keep playing like that!' John said happily in the common room that night.

Sherlock nodded. 'Don't discredit the rest of the team-'

'No it was completely because of you that we won. We would be hopeless without you playing.'

Sherlock smiled.

Soon it was November and getting colder around the grounds.John didn't mind the colder air, save for care of magical creatures, which nearly always took place outside, and potions, where the dungeons weren't much warmer.

'Have you decided what you're doing for Christmas this year?' Sherlock asked John, while they were busy crushing nettles for the day's potion. Snape apparently had a cold, which put him in a more nasty mood that usual, so John was keen on getting done as easily as he could and leaving.

'No, I was gonna see if you wanted to stay or not,' John said. He looked at Sherlock. 'Because if you're staying, I definitely will.'

'Mrs Hudson wants me home,' Sherlock said softly. The word tasted funny on his lips. 'She's made me promise to ask you to come along, of course.'

'Would you mind?' John asked. 'Because it's completely up to you.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'To be honest you'd probably offend Mrs Hudson if you didn't come.'

'Mr Holmes.' Snape's voice crept up on them. He spoke in a low tone so only Sherlock and John could hear him, and the face he gave John let John know that Snape would rather not address the both of them. 'Do you want to explain why I've heard multiple allegations claiming that you've been cheating in my class?'

'I don't want to because I can't,' Sherlock said simply. He stopped his work and looked at Snape. 'Clearly I'm not cheating-you watch the entire class too closely to allow anything completely bad to happen.' 

'I didn't ask if you were,' Snape hissed. 'I asked if you could explain the accusation. No need to say anything else.'

'It's been happening in other classes-' John said quickly but Snape glared at him, silencing him.

'Professor McGonagall has informed me of the other incidents, as she is your head of house. Of course there should be nothing to it, but given the common claims and the nature of them, you could have trouble on your hands, Mr Holmes.'

'Are you warning me? Because there's not much I can do-'

Snape rolled his eyes and brought his face to Sherlock's, Sherlock not being that much shorter than Snape. 'Watch. Your. Step.'

Sherlock looked to John after Snape left. 

'You know there's a problem when Snape's concerned about it,' John pointed out.

Sherlock sighed. 'Again, not much I can do short of interrogating people who would have some gain in saying I'm cheating-which is ...oh...the entire school?' Sherlock looked at John sarcastically. 'Only thing I can do is wait it out and deal with it when I can.'

'As long as there's nothing concrete they can use to get you into trouble,' John said, trying to focus on his work again.

'There won't be,' Sherlock said confidently. John hoped he was right.


	11. Holidays, 221b

'Like I said, I can't do anything about it-the press is getting information about the cases you've helped on, and to my knowledge, it isn't from any of my people.'

Sherlock sighed and turned his head away from Lestrade. 'So I suppose you don't want to bring me on them anymore--make your division look bad?'

'Sherlock, have you seen the latest Prophet article about you helping us out?' Lestrade shook his head angrily and lowered his voice. 'Some rubbish about you actually being in on the crimes.'

'It's bullshit,' Sherlock said quickly, meeting his mentor's eyes. 'I would never-'

'It's gotten around the office--no one there really knows you. They're all nervous as hell about this.'

Sherlock bit his lip angrily and looked away from Lestrade. 'So you're just gonna stop contacting me...Lestrade, those cases are sometimes _all I have_...' He swallowed heavily, hating himself.

Lestrade breathed out slowly. 'I'm sorry, Sherlock, really. I can try to contact you here and there about them, but until this blows over...' He shook his head. 'Damn my office, I don't want you getting caught up in some stupid rumour that's gonna destroy any chances you've got for the future, you know?'

'I know,' Sherlock said quietly. 'There's been similar rubbish going on up at school and ... I'm sorry you've gotten dragged into this.'

'Do you really think it's this Moriarty bloke?' 

'I'm damn sure he killed Carl Powers my first year,' Sherlock said angrily. 'But I don't have the shoes and the note whoever sent me that year was never enough to prove anything.' He shook his head. 'Hopefully this gets over with soon enough.'

'It will, you'll see.' Lestrade looked at Sherlock. 'Tell your Mrs Hudson I'll be over for Christmas, alright?'

Sherlock smiled. 'Sure.' He sighed, shrugged his cloak back on. 'Thanks, inspector.'

 

'Come on, we've gotta have a tree, it's Christmas.'

'Ughh I'll pass.' Sherlock muttered quietly. 

'Sherlock, help John with the tree,' Mrs Hudson called from the kitchen. 'Or you don't get any of my biscuits.'

Sherlock snorted, but went over to help John as Mrs Hudson walked in with mugs of tea. 'Lestrade said he was coming, Mrs Hudson.'

'Oh, good. How has he been, anyways?'

'He seemed fine.' Sherlock shrugged and ignored John's looks at him. The whole day John had been trying to ask Sherlock about what the situation with Lestrade's office was, and Sherlock wasn't keen on telling him. It would only worry John and Sherlock didn't need that right now. 'John, did you hear back from Molly?'

'Yeah, she said her family doesn't do anything until New Year's so she can come up.' John looked at Sherlock. 'Didn't you say you'd asked someone else to come...?'

'She hasn't replied.'

'She?'

'Shut up, John,' Sherlock said. Irene had been trying to contact him often on the two-way mirror, but he hadn't been one to respond. The other day, though, he'd tried to contact he to ask about coming for Christmas-to no answer. Sherlock had settled for sending an owl but it didn't seem likely that Irene would reply. Sherlock didn't know if he should be put off or concerned. He wasn't even sure why he'd asked Irene.

Through most of Christmas, Sherlock sat off to the side of the room at the desk. Granted, he was more fond of everyone in the room than anyone else in the world, but he didn't feel like socializing or celebrating. Victor was dead, Moriarty was still causing problems, everything he had to escape with was starting to be taken away. Even the solace of his few close friends wasn't helping much anymore.

'You alright?' John asked, setting a hot chocolate by Sherlock's elbow and then sitting opposite him.

'Course. Always.' Sherlock looked away from John. 'You know I'm not a fan of holidays...'

'Um, Sherlock, John...' They both looked up to see Molly Hooper standing next to the desk, offering wrapped packages to them. Sherlock swallowed heavily. He'd only gotten John and Mrs Hudson something-unthinkingly, it seemed.

'Wow, Molly,' John said, holding up a hand-knitted sweater. 'This is fantastic...'

'It's nothing...' Molly said, blushing slightly.

Sherlock dimly unwrapped his gift, his eyes widening slightly as he did. It was a large book on bees and their various magical properties and uses in the magical world. 'Thank you, Molly,' he said quietly, turning to face her. 'I...erm...I'm sorry, but I didn't get you anything-'

'It's fine,' Molly said quickly. 'I mean, I know you've had trouble this year, and I just wanted to do something and...it's fine-'

'No, really, thank you,' Sherlock said, standing and pulling her into a hug. She stiffened slightly before hugging him back. Sherlock looked up after a moment to see Mrs Hudson, John, and Lestrade all grinning slightly at them. He glared back.

Then there was a loud tap at the window and Sherlock pulled away from Molly quickly, determinedly avoiding everyone's eyes to open it and let in a large black owl.

'Don't recognize that one,' John said, frowning as Sherlock untied the note from it's ankle. 'Mycroft's?'

Sherlock snorted. 'No we don't do the sort of Christmas thing...' He unraveled the note and his eyes widened, recognizing the handwriting immediately. _Fireplace mantle. Merry Christmas, Mr Holmes_. 'Oh.'

He knew before he even reached the fireplace what it was. He could tell and felt himself already feeling a dead weight in his legs, knowing that as he shifted aside some potions papers to reveal the brown package that Irene's files would be in it. Sherlock knew, and yet he still felt his chest tighten when he opened the parcel and saw the files and Irene's half of the two way mirror inside-

'Sherlock?' Lestrade was walking over, looking curious.

'Excuse me,' Sherlock said softly. 'I need to...' He gestured towards his room lamely and then blearily travelled down the hallway. He let the door close behind him before sitting heavily on his bead, staring at the phone on the opposite side of the room. His brother and he had agreed that it would be good to have a quicker line of communication than owl post, and a safer one than patronus or floo network. But this was one call Sherlock was dreading to make.

He knew John was in the doorway as he picked up the phone and waited for his brother to answer. One ring later and 'Sherlock, we don't do family Christmas times.'

'You need to find Irene Adler,' Sherlock interrupted quickly. He felt his voice doing something odd and numbly realized that no matter how much death he would experience, it was always going to affect him in ways he couldn't control. He heard John take a step into the room and then stop.

'We already had tabs on her, she didn't leave Hogwarts until last night to visit a friend-'

'She's dead,' Sherlock said bluntly. There was a long silence and then a slight sound.

'Sherlock-'

'Just find her, alright? Let me know what and who killed her.' He threw the phone back and turned around to face John, at a loss for what he was supposed to do or say.

John apparently didn't either. They stood for a long time, staring at each other, whispered voices from the main room only on the fringes of the bubble they seemed to be sitting in. Then, finally, Sherlock spoke.

'She knew. Whatever happened, she knew it would. Meaning she'd anticipated something like this, she'd known at some point she'd be in this kind of danger.'

'Well, your brother was after her. And she'd been working with Moriarty.' John sighed, making to sit on Sherlock's bed. 'They're two of the biggest forces you really don't want to mess with...'

'Sherlock, your brother's at the door,' Mrs Hudson said, gently knocking on the door. She looked from Sherlock to John, obviously sensing something was off but not knowing what.

'Sneak out through the kitchen,' John suggested to Sherlock. 'mrs Hudson, can we get Molly and Lestrade to leave?'

'They can stay, if they want,' Sherlock said, already halfway out the kitchen and flinging on his coat. He exited through the front door.

Mycroft was several yards down the street, smoking a cigarette in the darkness, the light from the streetlamp eerily illuminating the smoke. 'Ever try one of these?' he asked when Sherlock approached.

'Yeah,' Sherlock said. 'Haven't gotten into them much--too much to do at Hogwarts to allow for a smoking habit. They remind me of the time that muggle burned you with one.'

'So fond memories all around, I imagine, as I lit his trousers on fire soon after,' Mycroft said, smirking quietly and looking at his wrist where Sherlock knew the small round scar would be. 'Were you two closer than I would know?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'We only talked a few times.' He accepted a cigarette from Mycroft and snapped his fingers to light it, earning himself a scalding look from his brother. 'It's just a small bit of magic; odds are no one will even notice.'

'You know I want those files, Sherlock.'

'They're safest with me, for now,' Sherlock said quietly. 'You know full well when they'll be in your possession.'

Mycroft sighed deeply. 'The body we found was beaten to death, horribly and dramatically--face was almost unrecognizable. Clearly she had someone who didn't want her around.'

'She was scared of someone and knew they were coming,' Sherlock said quietly. 'She wouldn't have given me the files otherwise.'

'I think your right,' Mycroft nodded. 'I'm putting some people into it--you're free to dig on your own, but the moment you find anything, you contact me, first, do you understand?'

Sherlock nodded, and then crushed the end of the cigarette beneath his foot. 'Merry Christmas, Mycroft.'

'Happy New Year...' Mycroft called after him.

 

Molly had left almost as soon as Sherlock had walked out the door, saying she didn't want to be in the way.

'So who was this?' Lestrade asked, looking concerned. 

'Irene Alder. They were... friends I guess.' John sighed. 'You know, Mycroft'll probably ask you to look into it.'

'That's not what I want to know. Do you think Sherlock will be okay after this?'

John shook his head. 'No idea... I think he's dealt with enough this year...'

'Christ I can't even imagine...' Lestrade shook his head, pulling on his cloak. 'I'm gonna get out there, see if I can get anything from Mycroft. Keep an eye on him, let me know if you need anything, alright?' 

John nodded. 

'Thanks for coming, Inspector,' Mrs Hudson said, smiling faintly.

'You leaving already?' Sherlock was coming up the stairs as Lestrade was hurrying down.

'Yeah. You alright, son?'

Sherlock nodded to Lestrade. 'Fine. Just need to figure out who killed her. Then I'll be more than alright.' He shook his head. 'Let me know if you figure anything out.'

'Be careful for the rest of term, alright? I'll try to pass along any information and cases I can. Just let me know if I can help out in any way.'

'Right...'

 

The next few days passed at a crawl and John was at a loss about how to find a way to set Sherlock right. No news had come from Lestrade or Mycroft; Sherlock had sent a few owls to people but none had come back positively. Meanwhile, the Prophet had printed an article again about Sherlock's involvement in Lestrade's office and John wondered if things could ever get worse.

Sherlock had locked himself in his room when John heard the noise at the kitchen window. He stood slowly and wandered over, wondering if it was lost post, or just the wind.

He nearly yelled when he saw Irene's face peering up at him from the window.

'Hello Mr Watson,' she said, smirking tightly as he helped her in. 'How are you these days?'

Many thoughts were chasing across John's mind but the first thing he was able to blurt out was. 'You know, Sherlock climbed up to my window too once when he was in trouble. I'll never know how you guys did it so easily.'

Irene laughed. 'Happy New Year's Eve, by the way.'


	12. The Return of Irene Adler

'Oddly enough I'm not even surprised,' Sherlock said, passing Irene and John mugs of tea before heading back into the kitchen to get his own. They were sat comfortably, John and Sherlock on the sofa and Irene having turned Sherlock's armchair around to face them.

'Hmm.' Irene sipped her tea, looking at him with shining eyes. 'Did I fool you though?'

'Yes.'

The admittance was something John had already known, but the quiet way it was spoken told John all he needed to know about how Sherlock felt about losing Irene. He looked at her, hoping to convey some expression of "don't do this again" to her.

Sherlock sighed quietly as he sat next to John. 'So who was after you?'

Irene shrugged. 'My guess is Moriarty, but I have no proof. I needed to come here and see you because in a few days everyone will know I'm alive and there's going to be trouble.'

'Do your parents know?' John asked.

Irene met his eyes. 'They're dead,' she said bluntly. 'I don't have a family. And it's not likely I would've gone back to one in this situation anyways--admitting I care and trust someone would mean putting them in danger-'

'But you're here,' John pointed out.

'She's here because she knows Moriarty's got his sights on me, even though no one can prove it, and there's already countess dangerous people after me,' Sherlock said lazily. He caught John's look. 'Don't worry; you and Mrs Hudson are only in danger so long as I'm alive.'

'For god's sake, I was thinking about you,' John said quickly, completely missing the last part of what Sherlock said.

Irene however didn't. She was looking at him curiously from where she sat. He shook his head and gave her a glare that could only mean not to say anything..

'What do you want from us?' Sherlock asked.

'I'm going back to Hogwarts in a few days when Christmas break is over,' Irene said. 'I want your reassurance that you'll stay away from me until the event that I get attacked or killed for real-and then that you'll investigate it.' She met Sherlock's look steadily. 'If Moriarty is behind the people who tried to kill me a few weeks ago, he'll do it again, and I need to find proof that it's him.'

'I'm not letting you do this,' Sherlock said quickly.

John knew he was thinking of Carl, who'd investigated for Sherlock and gotten killed for it. No matter what, John knew Sherlock would always blame himself for Carl's death.

'You really can't do this,' John said. 'Someone went after information on Moriarty for us before--Carl Powers. He got killed. We couldn't prove it. It was ruled as an accident. We don't want that to happen to you.'

Sherlock made a small noise in agreement.

'Tough.' Irene stood. 'I'm doing it no matter what. Like either of you could stop me anyways.' She looked at Sherlock. 'You and Moriarty are chess players, aren't you? And we're all pieces in this game.' She met his eyes, and her's were determined. 'I'd rather sacrifice myself on my own terms.'

'I'm not sacrificing anybody,' Sherlock said quietly. 'This is more than a game.'

'Tough,' Irene repeated. She stepped over to him, put her arms around him, and kissed him on the cheek. 'You're a brilliant boy, Sherlock. You'll do well, I can feel it.' She broke away from him and smiled slightly. 'John can see me out.'

John exchanged a glance with Sherlock before his friend nodded and John followed Irene down the stairs and out the door.

'Keep an eye on him,' she said quickly. 'And I do mean that, a really close eye.'

'Why?' John asked, frowning. 

'Because I can tell he's gonna do something incredibly stupid, fairly soon, and it might hurt both of you way more than he can predict.' Irene stuck her hands in the pockets of her cloak. 'I know you care about him more than I do, probably, so just make sure he's safe, because I can't.'

John put his face in his hand. 'I can't just watch him all the time,' he muttered. 'What the hell do you think he's gonna do?'

'I think he's gonna get himself killed,' Irene said. 'And that's the kinder way of saying it. It's chess, sacrifices are needed, and unfortunately, I think his way of playing involves himself as the ultimate sacrifice.' She sighed. 'Find some way of stopping that, please.'

'Just don't get yourself killed either, alright?' John said.

'You two,' Irene said, shaking her head. 'Sometimes things don't go as you want, alright? Let me do what I need to do, and you worry about Sherlock for both of us.' She smiled. 'Maybe I'll see you at school.'

 

'You know, I wish people would talk about people to me,' Sherlock said angrily.

'Are you planning on getting yourself killed?' John said bluntly. 'Is this your plan of getting rid of Moriarty?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'And here I thought I'd convinced you both that I _wasn't_ gonna commit suicide.' He met John's eyes, looking angry. 'Just shut up.'

'Sherlock, I DON'T WANT YOU DEAD!' John yelled, his voice doing things that he didn't like. Sherlock flinched. 'HELL, I HATE SEEING YOU LIKE THIS, AFTER THE SUMMER WITH YOUR DAD, AFTER VICTOR, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?'

'John-' Sherlock's voice wavered slightly. 'Don't--'

John slammed his fist onto the table and then registered Sherlock's large flinch, his wide eyes watching John, fearful. The anger left him in half a second once he realized what he was doing. 'I'm an idiot,' John said quietly. 'I'm sorry, this isn't helping, I'm sorry.' He closed his eyes as he heard Sherlock's heavier breathing, hating himself, knowing that Sherlock had problems with yelling, problems with violence out of anger... 'I'm sorry...'

'It's fine...it was my fault,' Sherlock said quietly. He sounded on the verge of tears and when John looked over, he saw his friend's eyes were red. John felt something turn in his stomach. 

'No, I'm an idiot. I shouldn't be thinking about how I'm feeling so much--everything right now is hitting you alot worse...' John shook his head. 'I shouldn't have yelled I got carried away-'

'Being angry at this is a normal human reaction,' Sherlock said quietly. His voice was shaking too much for John's liking. 'What isn't is my reaction to it. I should be past this right now, I should be able to actually take you yelling at me because it's deserved in this case-'

John sat down heavily on the coffee table in front of Sherlock. 'No, just...no. I shouldn't have gotten that mad.' He looked at Sherlock. 'You trusted me about all that, I should be able to make sure I don't mess things up.' 

'I'm sorry I can't be more open,' Sherlock said. 'But right now I don't plan on dying. That wouldn't solve anything.' He sighed. 'Can you at least trust me on that?'

John nodded. 'I just don't want to see you hurt,' he said quietly. 'So if I can help at all, just...with anything...tell me, alright?'

Sherlock nodded mutely.


	13. Secrets or Lies

Mrs Hudson set a cup of tea on the stand beside Sherlock's bed and then sat on the edge of it, looking at him where he lay in bed. 'You've barely been out of bed lately, dear, are you sure you aren't sick?'

Sherlock shook his head, closing his eyes. 'No, just being stupid.' He swallowed. 'It's stupid but I keep thinking if I don't get up...I won't have to handle life.'

He looked at Mrs Hudson, feeling guilty at her sympathetic face. 'It'll pass, dear.' She put her hand on her knee. 'You've had so much happen to you and you're so young...you're not expected to be able to handle everything all the time.'

'But what if I have to?'

'You shouldn't have to do anything you don't want to, Sherlock.' She looked at him sadly. 'It'll pass, I promise. Everything does in time.' She stood slowly. 'Let me know if you need anything, or John in case I'm out.'

Sherlock drew his knees up to his chest and folded his arms over them, hating it all. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. There was too much in his head telling him to remain calm and thinking and he wasn't able to break down.

In a way, Mrs Hudson was right. He didn't _have_ to do anything he didn't want to. But there was too much at stake with everything involved with going back to Hogwarts. He was sure that no matter what, he couldn't just remain neutral. Moriarty had told him, when they first faced off on the train, that he'd had to pick a side. And Sherlock knew that no matter what, the side he belonged on was that opposite James Moriarty.

He sighed, putting his face into his arms and letting his curls flop over his knees. He knew what he had to do, but doing it was hard for him to even consider.

 

Before John and Sherlock knew it, Mrs Hudson was seeing them off onto the train at King's Cross, hugging them both tightly. 

'Be careful,' she said to both of them. Then she held Sherlock at arms length, looking at him fondly. 'Be _safe_ ,' she said softly, her eyes slightly pleading.

Once they were on the train, Sherlock turned to John. 'What do you think?'

John frowned at Sherlock. 'What do you mean?'

'Irene. Should we go find and sit with her, or respect what she wants and let her be?' John was taken aback by how intently Sherlock was looking at him. Normally Sherlock was the one with all the answers.

'Will us sitting with her help anything?'

Sherlock frowned. 'No. No, probably not.' He sighed, beginning to lead them into an empty compartment. 'It might actually make things worse, now that I'm thinking about it...'

'She'll be okay, Sherlock,' John said as he sat opposite his friend.

'Yeah, I'm pretty sure she will be...' Sherlock looked out the window absently. 

It was a long train ride, John felt. Much of it was silence between the two of them, Sherlock only giving half-hearted answers and contributions to any sort of chat John attempted.

Finally, they were in the carriages, being pulled along. Sherlock was looking up at the castle in the distance sadly as they went along. 'This is the first time....that I've ever dreaded coming back,' he said softly.

'Really?' John asked. He wondered if anything Sherlock was anticipating could really bad that bad.

Sherlock nodded. 'Too much going on. Too much to deal with.' Then he looked to the front of the carriages. 'Remember when I said there were things pulling the carriages?' 

'Yeah?'

'Remind me about that sometime,' Sherlock said softly. John frowned but nodded.

 

The next few days started off normally, making John feel better about their return to school. But then Sherlock came up to him, looking serious.

'I won't be playing Quidditch for the rest of the year,' he said.

'Because of...?'

'Everything,' Sherlock said quietly. 'Nothing happening right now, but...soon there's going to be alot going on and I ...won't be able to.'

'Are...are you planning something?' John asked.

Sherlock sighed. 'It's hard to. Because it's really hard to predict when Moriarty's gonna try to do anything... it has to be this year and I'd be better off preparing for him than anything else.'

John nodded. 'Well...Rybek won't be pleased but oh well.'

Sherlock snorted. 'He never liked me anyways. You're bound to get captain next year.'

'You think?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Definitely.'

 

 

'You are so stupid and I hate you,' Irene hissed as Sherlock slid next to her in the library.

'No you don't.' He smirked at her sadly. 'This isn't going to do anything to further hurt both of us; we're both on the top of Moriarty's most wanted list, remember?'

'Yeah but you're not supposed to die for this crap.' She sounded more bitter than he expected.

'Neither are you,' he said softly. 'You got associated with the wrong people at the wrong time...'

'You didn't though,' Irene said and looked at him. 'So why are you still a threat to Moriarty?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Have you found anything out?' he asked, changing the subject quickly.

'Sort of. Still poking around.' She sighed. 'You were right about the whole organisation bit...it's...well, bigger than anyone would expect, what Moriarty's got going on. He's staged stuff all around the country in the past four years, with some help of some powerful friends, obviously.' She looked at Sherlock. 'You are going to have to be so careful...'

'Always,' Sherlock smirked.

She shook her head. 

 

Three nights later, Sherlock came into the common room past four in the morning, eyes red-rimmed and tears in his clothes, bruises on his face. John started when he saw him, not expecting Sherlock to have been back that late. 'Jesus, who was it this time?' he asked, springing to his feet and rushing over, noticing Sherlock's tears. 'Are you alright?'

Sherlock nodded, quickly wiping his eyes in his sleeve. 'Yeah..' he cleared his throat. 'Fine, I'm fine.' He sighed, sitting on the sofa where John pointed him and resigning himself to letting John look after him. 'This wasn't anyone being stupid, don't worry.'

'Then who-'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Not now. Sometime later. People can overhear things too easily when you're in the castle...' He sat back, closing his eyes and looking tired.

'You should sleep,' John said.

'Mmm...' Sherlock glanced at his watch. We both probably should. What kept you up?'

'Astronomy,' John sighed. Sherlock scoffed. 'It's gotta be worth something, otherwise they wouldn't teach it Sherlock.'

'It's not worth anything to me,' Sherlock said, and then laughed quietly. 'Alright. I'm heading to bed.'

John nodded. 'I won't be up too much later...won't be able to function if I did.' He heard a slight chuckle from his friend.

 

The following morning, John saw Mycroft Holmes wandering the corridor near the Gryffindor common room as John was coming back from class. Mycroft nodded to him.

'Do you want Sherlock?' John asked, pointing towards the common room. 'Because he's in class for another 20 minutes still..'

'No.' Mycroft said, and motioned John into an empty classroom. 'I need to talk with you.'

John swallowed heavily but followed Mycroft. 'What's this about?'

'Firstly, there's an imminent danger presenting itself towards Sherlock. Dangerous wizards and witches have been spotted in Hogsmeade and at Baker Street, as well is the department for Magical Investigation-where your inspector works.' Mycroft sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 'Something's clearly happening, and I want you to watch out for my brother.'

'Because you can't?' John asked.

'You know him better than I do,' Mycroft said sadly. John blinked.

'Also,' Mycroft said smoothly, as if he hadn't just admitted something personal, 'Irene Adler is dead.'

John blinked and looked Mycroft in the eye. 'Sure? Because last time--'

'We checked this time, very thoroughly.' Mycroft sighed. 'Last night, off Hogwarts grounds, on the other side of the forest, there was some kind of large fight, which ended in her termination, as well as the injury of two wizards whom we apprehended from the scene and are refusing to give us details. All we know is that they were fighting against her.'

'So ..she's really dead this time.'

Mycroft nodded. 'It would take Sherlock to fool me, and I really don't think he would've been there, do you?' John frowned, wondering what Sherlock _had_ been doing last night.

'You want me to tell him?'

'Well,' Mycroft looked doubtful. 'I don't know how good the news would be for him. I was prepared to tell him the truth, or a lie about her leaving the country. It's your choice.' Mycroft met John's eyes. 'As I said. You know him better than I.'


	14. The Thestrals

John walked slowly over to the table by the window where Sherlock was working-actually working, John noted in surprise-on homework. He wasn't entirely sure what he would tell his friend. But he knew he had to say something.

'Hey Sherlock.'

'If you need any help with the Potions essay, I've almost finished mine.' Sherlock was still bent over his parchment, writing intently.

'No...ah...I have news.' John cleared his throat nervously as Sherlock looked up, frowning.

'You've been with Mycroft,' he said slowly. 'What's this about?'

'Irene Adler,' John said, registering that something flickered in Sherlock's eyes when he heard the name. 'She's...er.'

'Well? what?' Sherlock sat back. 'Did Mycroft finally get information from here?'

'No...he didn't say anything like that.' John stood for a moment, looking at Sherlock and then too a deep breath-- 'She's in America.'

Sherlock blinked. 'Really?' he said in an odd voice.

John nodded. 'Mycroft decided with Moriarty it wouldn't be safe for her here...so he sent her off there under a false name, apparently.' John looked at Sherlock. 'What?'

Sherlock shook his head, the grin falling from his face, slightly. 'Nothing.' He stood, piling his work into his bag. 'I'm gonna run this upstairs and then I've got something to show you.'

 

John followed Sherlock down across the grounds, to the edge of the forbidden forest, passing the gamekeeper's hut. 

'Sherlock, we're not going in the forest, are we?' John hurried to catch up with his friend. 'We'll get into trouble for being in there.'

'Relax John,' Sherlock said calmly, leading the way into the forest. John glanced behind them as he followed, looking out at the dusk sky, hoping, not for the first time, that Sherlock knew what he was doing.

'Irene Adler,' Sherlock said quietly, after they'd walked for a bit. 'Is not dead. I imagine my brother told you she was.'

'What?' John asked, stopping. Sherlock turned around, smiling.

'Last night, she had to leave the castle; someone had made a threat against her life. She didn't know that I found out, so of course, I followed her. Probably where Mycroft told you she was killed is where I found here attempting to fight off her would-be assassins. Together, we were able to drive them off--and no, their faces were covered. ' Sherlock sighed. 'The person who was in charge of them scampered just as I showed up as well. So no leads there. Irene and I parted soon after.'

'Where is she now?' John asked, as they began walking again.

'America,' Sherlock said, catching John's eye and laughing. 'Mycroft gave you a truth to tell and wasn't even aware of it.'

Sherlock thought back to their final parting, where Irene had told him they would hopefully meet again. He'd agreed, doubtfully, and then stopped her from running off with one last question.

'When you asked me why I'm a Gryffindor and not a Slytherin, I asked you your theory.' Sherlock cocked his head. 'We were...interrupted before you got to answer. What was it, exactly?'

Irene had smiled at him. 'Choices,' she said, before hurrying off, away from Sherlock and away from the castle.

Sherlock frowned himself smiling thoughtfully at the memory before being brought back to the present by John's voice.

'You are ridiculous.' John shook his head as Sherlock laughed.

John was glad that Irene was alive and that Sherlock knew it. And that he wouldn't have to lie to his best friend. But not knowing the identity of the people who attacked her wasn't something positive. If they'd seen sherlock, that might put Sherlock in more danger.

They walked for a while in comfortable silence through the forest. Then Sherlock paused, in what John thought was a small clearing by a stream. But then Sherlock was walking slowly, hand outstretched, to something John couldn't see. John watched, mystified, as Sherlock put his hand up against something John couldn't see, and petted it.

'Are...are we near those things you said pull the carriages?' He felt something breathe near his shoulder and jumped slightly before hearing Sherlock chuckle. 

'Thestrals, Sherlock said, walking over. 'Give me your hand.'

John hesitated a moment, and then held his hand out. Sherlock took it carefully and guided up to what John saw as thin air. Then he felt something hard and bony beneath his hand. Sherlock withdrew his and John started to pet the thestral.

'Wow,' he whispered quietly. Sherlock looked up fondly at what must have been another beast beside them. 'This is...so weird.'

Sherlock chuckled softly. 'They're interesting creatures, really,' he said. 'They look a bit scary though.'

'I wish I could see them,' John said wistfully before noticing Sherlock stiffen, knowing instantly he'd said something wrong.

'No you don't, Sherlock said firmly.

'I'm sor-'

Sherlock was shaking his head, looking at the thestral in front of him. 'The only people who can see them,' he said quietly, 'are those who've seen death.' John swallowed heavily and Sherlock went on, still not meeting John's eyes. 'I've been able to see them for ages, and it hasn't really bothered me, because it's been normal to me. But...their reputation is of creatures of death and most people don't take to seeing them or hearing about them well. Most people are scared of them.

John was silent, processing everything.

There was a quiet couple minutes between the two of them and John was wondering if he should apologize again, knowing he'd touched on a sensitive subject when Sherlock spoke.

'But you know, you can see what they look like.'

John blinked and frowned at Sherlock, watching his friend as he drew out his wand. 'You never did see my patronus, did you?' Sherlock asked casually. John shook his head.

'No. Why?' He'd been unconscious by the time help had arrived out on the moor the year previous and had assumed that Lestrade must've driven away the dementors. But then he watched as Sherlock stood, concentrating hard for a moment before whispering 'Expecto patronum' and knew then that Sherlock must've been the one to keep the dementors at bay long enough for help to arrive. He had only a brief second to wonder why his friend hadn't told him before Sherlock's patronus lept from his wand.

It was a massive, skeletal, winged hose. John jumped at the sight of it before looking more closely, captivated. It was, as Sherlock had said, quite frightening, especially what looked like its eyes, and yet John also found the look of the beast calming.

He looked from the ghostly silver guardian to Sherlock, who was watching him, smiling slightly, and realized that the thestral was a perfect patronus for his friend.

A thestral nudged John's side and John smiled, reaching blindly out to pet it as Sherlock waved away the patronus form of the same creature. 'It suits you,' John breathed, impressed.

'You think so?' Sherlock asked, looking thoughtful. 

John nodded. 'Definitely.' He thought for a moment before speaking. 'I think at first look, they seem like something you would definitely want to stay away from, and probably be afraid of but...' he looked into the empty air where his hand was rubbing a thestral's nose. 'Once you start to understand them, they're really amazing.'

He looked over at Sherlock who looked completely taken aback, looking at John wordlessly. John smiled again.

They came back, thankfully, to a brief owl from Lestrade.

_New case, thought you might want in on it. Careful about where you send John's owl, though, I think our mail might be getting tracked. I sent this one from Hogsmeade hoping it wouldn't get found as easily. Do what you have to to stay safe. Even if it means turning down the case._

Sherlock shook his head.

'Idiot,' he muttered. 'If someone's reading the owls, they're probably in the castle or at Hogsmead...' He shook his head. 

'You gonna take his case?' John asked.

Sherlock nodded. 'Not much else I can do right now, might as well. We just need to make sure your owl stays clear of Hogsmeade and we watch her leave the castle with the replies.'

John nodded. 'Moriarty, do you think?' he asked quietly.

Sherlock frowned. 'I have no idea...'


	15. Suspended

Exams were quickly approaching and Sherlock and John didn't have time for much else besides reviewing for their upcoming exams. Although to John, it seemed like Sherlock was unfocused. He didn't bring it up, however, for fear of Sherlock being angry that John noticed something was off. Something about the upcoming week of exams made John nervous, and he didn't want Sherlock mocking his feelings.

'You're in the papers again,' Molly said quietly, coming to join their table in the library.

'Don't care,' Sherlock said, ignoring her. John sighed.

'What's happening this time?' he asked. Molly frowned.

'They said they've got some big report to do on him, something about the "Truth about Sherlock Holmes," Molly looked concerned and John noticed Sherlock perking up beside him.

'Who's writing it?' Sherlock asked.

'Someone named Riley... they have a source, apparently, Brook...I forgot the first name.'

'Was it Richard?' Molly nodded. 

'Sounds right...' Molly frowned. 'Do you know him?' 

Sherlock shook his head. 'No, no not really.'

John stood. 'I'm gonna go look for this article; I've got a paper in the common room, unless I find someone with one before I get there.'

'No mine's at the table over there,' Molly said., pointing.

John stood. 'I'll get it, don't worry,' he said nervously.

Molly sighed as he walked away and then gently grabbed Sherlock's arm, forcing him to face her. 'My dad's dead,' she said softly.

Sherlock blinked, confused, as he pulled his arm back from Molly's grip, suppressing a shiver. 'I'm...sorry?' he offered and Molly shook her head.

'No that's...' she pressed on quickly. 'He was always ridiculously cheerful, but even more so when he was dying. He wouldn't let anyone see...' she sighed. 'I was young, I saw him once, right before he actually died-'

'Molly,' Sherlock said in a warning tone, and she met his eyes as John walked up to their table, preoccupied with the paper.

'What I'm saying is,' Molly said, not looking away from Sherlock, 'Is that you look sad. When he can't see you.'

Sherlock's eyes flicked to John, who stood at the edge of their table, reading the supposed article, brows furrowed. He looked back to Molly. 'And you can see me.'

'I don't count,' Molly said softly. Sherlock opened his mouth and she shook her head. 'I know you probably don't...' She bit her lip. 'I just... if you need anything...at all...you can have me.' She shook her head, flustered suddenly. 'I mean, you can trust me or ask me or-'

'I-' Sherlock looked from her to John. 'You think I'm dying?'

Molly bit her lip again. 'Forget I said anything just...let me know. Sorry.' And she left hurriedly

'What was that about?' John asked, sitting back next to Sherlock, looking even more worried.

'I don't know,' Sherlock said. He looked at the paper in front of John. 'Why does it bother you?' Sherlock asked. 'What anybody else says?'

'Sherlock, you know what this is probably gonna say when it comes out the day after tomorrow? That you've been making up things to work with Lestrade. And knowing this cheating rumor, probably something about that as well.' John shook his head angrily. 'I don't want people thinking you're...'

'What?'

'No...' John shook his head. 'Just forget about it.' He sighed. 'We've got a test tomorrow morning, I wanna worry about that for a while.'

Molly stopped John in the hall on his way to dinner that evening. 'I didn't want to say this in front of Sherlock, but Phillip Anderson and Sally Donovan apparently were gonna talk to Flitwick about something relating to the people accusing Sherlock cheating.'

John felt his stomach drop. 'I'm assuming not good things.'

'No.' Molly shook her head. 'Apparently they heard something really...really proving that he might be cheating. Donovan sounded convinced, Anderson sounded nervous.' She sighed. 'I don't know if they'll say anything but... That's what I heard them talking about in the hall yesterday.' She looked at John helplessly.

'Maybe they won't do anything,' John said. 'Sally's not stupid and Anderson doesn't do anything unless he's sure about it...' He knew he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Molly.

 

Whispers followed Sherlock and John everywhere the next morning as they went straight to their exam. John tried his best to ignore it all, knowing everyone in the castle had probably seen the previous day's Prophet and were wondering about Sherlock now. It made him uneasy, feeling like they were sitting on a bomb set to explode the next day.

'Here's what's funny,' John said to Sherlock. 'If they really do have information on you, who would it have been from? What credible source is there, I mean?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Just focus on your exam, John. I can deal with this later.'

20 minutes into the exam, Flitwick swooped next to Sherlock, snatching something off the floor just as Sherlock was looking over at the floor.

'What is this, Holmes?!' Flitwick asked, unfurling the parchment, his eyes widening. 'EXPLAIN YOURSELF, HOLMES!'

Sherlock was looking at Flitwick, wide-eyed and shocked. 'Professor?'

John swallowed heavily from the other side of the room. Flitwick's expression was incredulous and growing more angry by the minute and John didn't want to think about what was going on. The rest of the class watched with the same attentiveness, never having heard Flitwick so upset.

'This is your handwriting, isn't it?' Flitwick asked, shoving the paper in front of Sherlock's face. John watched as Sherlock's eyes widened, reading. Slowly, Sherlock nodded. 

Flitwick walked up to his desk at the front of the classroom quickly, writing something on a piece of parchment before giving both papers to Sherlock. 'Go see Professor McGonagall and kindly hand her both sheets. And don't return here unless this proves to be a fraud, Holmes.'

Sherlock swallowed heavily before grabbing his bag and hurrying out of the room. John almost stood to follow him without thinking before Flitwick said hurriedly- 'Get back to work, there's only 20 minutes left on the writing before I need to test your wandwork.'

Sherlock didn't return to the exam.

 

'This is ridiculous.'

'Do you know, Holmes, how many reports of cheating have been brought to my attention by other members of staff and students?' McGonagall sighed. 'Enough to cause concern. And now there's this-during an exam. Not to mention this business with the Daily Prophet, which just adds to the trouble...'

Sherlock's hands shook as he paced the office. 'I need to be here!'

'Unfortunately, we can't let you attend classes while we're deciding what to do with this information, or take your exams.'

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, breathing deeply. 'This is ...this is just-'

'What would be best right now,' McGonagall continued calmly, 'Is to either have you stay in the castle until we sort this which knowing other student's track record of tolerance towards you, let alone the fact that there's barely a week left of the school year isn't the best idea or have someone come to take you home for a few days, and if we get this resolved, you can come back, take your exams, and get back to summer break early.'

Sherlock was quiet for a long time. 'Lestrade or my brother could come up. I don't want to worry Mrs Hudson by bringing her up here.'

'I'll send a few owls as soon as you leave here, Holmes.' Her look softened. 'I'm sure this will resolve itself. You're not a great student, but I would never assume you were cheating.'

'Yeah but that doesn't help me very much, does it?' Sherlock said bitterly. 

 

'You're joking.' John shook his head angrily. 'You're actually serious?' They were alone in the common room while everyone was at dinner. John had stayed put at their usual table until Sherlock had come back from McGonagall.

'Supposed to be leaving tomorrow,' Sherlock said. He sounded miserable to John as he furiously wrote out a letter which John assumed was to Lestrade. 'The only good thing would be if Lestrade's able to come get me-I really don't want my brother up here.' He sighed. 

'Couldn't he help? I mean, isn't he in a high position of the Ministry?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'He's not gonna be able to do much-the ministry and the school stay relatively seperate--I know fudge and Dumbledore have at least had contact every so often, but it's not the same.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Besides I don't need him to come and rescue me from this.'

John sat for a bit, watching Sherlock grow more and more tense. 'Are you okay?'

'What do you think?' Sherlock snapped. 'Between this, and now tomorrow--'

'The Prophet article? I thought you said you didn't care?'

'I care that you care,' Sherlock said angrily. 'You seem so bent out of shape about it even if you know it's lies.'

'Sherlock, I don't want people thinking that you're...' John stopped himself, taking a breath. He was getting upset and he knew it.

'That I'm what?' Sherlock's voice was low, his eyes fixed on John.

'Fake,' John said.

Sherlock sat back, his face growing more angry. 'You're worried that they're right.' John shook his head but Sherlock continued. 'You're worried there's gonna be too much truth in the article, you're worried I cheated on the exam, you're worried your friend's been a fake the whole time you've known him-MAKING UP CRIMES ANC CRIMINALS AND LYING!--'

'SHERLOCK!' John met his eyes. 'I know you. I know you're not a fake. I just want everyone else to know that.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Okay,' he said in a small voice. And John felt that Sherlock was more lost than he'd ever been.

'We'll clear this up,' John said.

 

Molly paused in the middle of packing up her potions things and looked up, listening. Then she jumped when Sherlock spoke, closing the door quietly behind him. 

'From what I hear, you don't need to be spending extra time on potions revisions before your exam tomorrow.' He was struggling to keep his voice steady.

She noticed. 'Are you okay?' She walked towards him slowly, her eyes searching. 'Tell me what's wrong, Sherlock, tell me what you need.'

'No matter what you'd still want to help?'

Molly nodded, about a foot away from him now and he turned towards her, pausing briefly before speaking.

'I think I'm going to die,' he said quietly.

'Oh, Sherlock-Molly said breathlessly, but he stepped back, away from the arms she was raising as if to hug him and he shook his head. 'What do you need?' she asked, her eyes red. Her voice, however, was firm.

'You,' Sherlock said, meeting her eyes. They stood like that for a long time in silence, before Molly finally nodded, sniffing slightly and attempting a bracing smile.


	16. The Fall

Sherlock seemed restless, John noted, when his friend returned to the dorm for what was probably his last night at Hogwarts for a while. And John could understand-he knew Sherlock liked it much better here than anywhere else-as much as he clearly loved Mrs Hudson.

'Hang on, I've got something for you,' Sherlock said, walking straight to his trunk. John watched as he pulled out one of the two way mirrors Irene had given Sherlock. Sherlock tossed it to John and John caught it by his fingertips.

'She didn't keep it?' John asked, looking at the mirror. Sherlock shook his head.

'She said if she wants to get in touch, she will. And if I need to, I'm sure I'll find a way.' Sherlock sighed, fidgeting slightly. 'If I'm going to be out of the castle, and Moriarty's still in it, then you need to let me know if he gets up to anything.'

'Alright...' John looked at the mirror sadly. 'This is stupid,' he said softly.

'Yeah.' Sherlock sat on his bed heavily. 'It really is.'

 

John spent most of his potions exam stressing about Sherlock leaving later that day. He knew by the end of the time slot that he probably hadn't done as well as he otherwise would have, but then again, John was never very good at potions to begin with. He made eye contact with Snape briefly when he brought his flask up to the front of the room, and wondered if the professor believed anything of what Sherlock was being accused of. He knew Snape and Sherlock were more amicable than Snape was to most of the Gryffindors, and he wondered if that would help any of the discussions the teachers were bound to have in the week.

He also thought about Professor Dumbledore, who he'd never met directly, but whom Sherlock had talked with briefly their second year. John'd heard great things about Dumbledore throughout the years and wondered if the older wizard would be fair in taking Sherlock's problem.

People had been muttering about Sherlock in the halls since he'd gotten to breakfast that morning, and John heard a few of them saying "I always knew he was bad news." He knew none of it bode well for his friend. But he didn't want to read the article because he knew Sherlock wouldn't want to discuss it.

By the time John reached the common room, he was mentally exhausted. As he was putting his books away, he spotted a note from Sherlock on his bed and read it quickly before hurrying out the door.

It was into dinner when John reached the classroom on the third floor to spot Sherlock angrily shooting sparks off the walls in the room, crackling noises ensuing whenever they struck the stone.

'How long until you leave?' John asked. Sherlock shrugged.

'Lestrade was on his way to Hogsmeade station, apparently. He had to meet with someone there and then was going to take one of our carriages up here since you can't apparate inside the grounds...' Sherlock sat at a desk, drumming his fingers on the table nervously.

'D'you think Moriarty's responsible for the cheating problem?' John said quietly, sitting on a desk opposite his friend.

Sherlock sighed. 'Probably,' he muttered. 'It's stupid, the feud between our family goes back centuries--to the 1800s or something. Some of our ancestors even had a duel on top of a waterfall in Switzerland to prevent whatever the Moriarty had been doing.' Sherlock shook his head. 'My relative won.'

John shook his head. 'That's insane.' Sherlock nodded. 'So this is partially just something stupid between families that's ages old now?'

'Partially.' Sherlock sighed. 'I suppose alot of my family can't keep their nose out of things.' John laughed.

There was a tap on the window and John looked out to see a large brown owl. 'Who...?' he asked, standing and opening the window to take the note from the owl.

He unfurled it slowly, reading it, before looking up at Sherlock, panicked. 'Oh my god.'

'What is it?' Sherlock asked, sounding distracted.

'It's Lestrade, he's been attacked!' John pressed the letter into Sherlock's hand and Sherlock looked up at John.

'What?'

'Hogsmeade,' John said hurriedly, walking to the door and then stopping to turn back to Sherlock. 'Somewhere in Hogsmeade...'

Sherlock wasn't moving. 'How?'

'Mycroft said there were a bunch of dangerous wizards down there, probably because of this stupid feud with Moriarty--' John cut himself off, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. 'He might be being brought here to Madam Pomfrey, we need to go.'

'You go, I'm busy.'

There was something funny in Sherlock's voice that John attributed worry. 'With what? Don't you care?'

'He's just some detective,' Sherlock said, averting his eyes and talking through his teeth. 'Honestly John, I've got more to worry about.'

'You-' John stood, open-mouthed for a few seconds. 'Are you serious, you never cared about him?' Sherlock shrugged. 'My god, you really are a psychopath,' John said angrily and shook his head. 'Just--just sod this, I'm going to find out what happened and you can wait to go home alone like you want. Jesus...' And he stormed out angrily.

Sherlock sighed, swallowing the lump in this throat and wiping his eyes before standing, pulling a piece of parchment from his robes. He scribbled "Astronomy tower-SH" on it quickly before folding it into an airplane and waving his wand so it flew off to find Moriarty. Then he quickly hurried out into the corridor.

"You ever hear the song "Stayin' Alive"?' Moriarty purred from the tower as Sherlock stepped out onto the parapet. 

'Bee Gees, 1977. A muggle music group.' Sherlock walked over to Moriarty slowly, watching him as he sat on the parapet well.

'Yes.' Moriarty sighed standing slowly. 'That's what it is, isn't it?'

'What is?'

'Everything.' Moriarty sighed sadly. 'It's so pointless. All it is is countless distractions. But what happens when you loose those?'

'Find new ones, I suppose.'

'Sherlock, here's the thing. I know for a fact that no one I will ever encounter in existence will be smarter than you. Maybe your brother, but he's boring.' He smiled as Sherlock smirked. 'I am never going to do anything better than play this little game we've been having. And now look. I've beaten you. What happens now?'

'Who says you've beaten me?'

'Sherlock, there is no way you're gonna get out of this whole I've dug you into. Your brother was more than cooperative enough to give me information about you-in exchange, of course, for some about me organization. Not that it matters much.' Moriarty smiled sadly. 'The papers have so much about you, they just need to say you've been a part of all the crimes you've stopped--which was printed today--and now you're through. Not to mention, almost certain expulsion. I've heard tell that Ms Sally Donovan got ahold of some pretty compromising evidence that will put you out of favour with the school...'

'Okay,' Sherlock said slowly, shifting his weight on his feet nervously. 'So what happens now?'

'Now?' Moriarty laughed. 'Oh, I thought you knew. You see, Sherlock, you can't be allowed to continue. So maybe there's a chance you can fix some things. Maybe you end up going after my organization, say the Daily Prophet goes to crap tomorrow.' Moriarty shook his head and tutted. 'It could happen they're way too political...my point is, you can't be allowed to stay alive and play the game, because it would ruin any version where I come out on top.'

'So you want me to kill myself?'

'Isn't it nice? It'll make perfect sense too-trauma from your father's death last year, incomprehensible grief brought on by Mr Trevor and Ms Adler's deaths, stress over this whole business with the press and school... it's the perfect ending to your story.'

'What happens if I don't?' Sherlock asked. He crossed over to the parapet and looked down. 'Say I'm not the suicidal type.'

Moriarty laughed. 'I'm sure you heard there's some scary people in Hogsmeade. They're on hold. If they don't hear of your death today, they're going to 221b to kill Mrs Hudson, the Ministry or here to kill Lestrade, and of course, here to kill John Watson.' Moriarty smiled. 'They've got nothing to loose. See Sherlock, if you don't, you could ruin my story. Ruin my name further than you already have to a few people. And that won't do at all.' Moriarty smiled. 'So are you brave enough to do it?'

 

John ran as fast as he could through the halls, hoping he'd run into some Professor that he could ask about Lestrade. Instead, to his shock, he ran straight into the man himself.

'John?' Lestrade blinked. 'Well, nice running into you. Where's Sherlock?'

'He's..' John blinked in confusion. Lestrade hadn't been hurt. Someone had wanted John away from Sherlock. That meant Sherlock was in danger. 'Oh my god...' John breathed, hating himself. 'Sorry he's...I need to find him, I think he's in trouble-' And John took off at a dead sprint the way he came, hearing Lestrade following him with the same urgency.

 

'You know I don't have to do anything,' Sherlock said softly. 'I'm not my brother. I have far less moral standards, laws of right and wrong don't mean anything to me. I could get you to call off those men.'

Moriarty looked into Sherlock's eyes. 'Yeah. I believe you. And that's not the ending to the story I want to tell. So you'll have to think of something else.'

Before Sherlock could even move, Moriarty had pulled a gun out from his robes and had it in his mouth as Sherlock was flinching backwards before there was a loud bang and Moriarty's body fell to the floor with a solemn thump.

 

'Have you seen Sherlock?' John asked Molly Hooper, who was hurrying down the corridor. Lestrade paused next to them, panting slightly.

Molly looked startled briefly before answering, 'I think he went through the grassy courtyard a bit ago-don't know where-'

'Thanks-' John took off running again. Lestrade nodded to Molly before following.

 

Sherlock breathed heavily, starting to panic. He hated suicides, he hated everything to do with this, this wasn't alright...

But he knew what he had to do and nothing was going to stop him from doing it at this point. It had all gone too far.

He set his face and stepped to the edge of the parapet, spotting John below, looking around furiously. Sherlock sighed, pulling out the two-way mirror from his pocket.

 

John felt something warm suddenly against his side, and unthinkingly thrust his hand into his pocket. It was the mirror Sherlock had given him the night before. He pulled it out quickly. 'Sherlock, where are you?'

'I ah...look up.'

Sherlock's voice sounded strained but John looked up away from Sherlock's face in the mirror and felt his heart clench. 'Oh god...Sherlock...'

'I... can't come down right now.' Sherlock's voice broke slightly. 'So...we have to do it like this.'

'What's going on?' John asked. 'Stay there, I'm coming up-'

'NO!' Sherlock shouted and John winced, stopping and looking back in the mirror. 'Just..stay where you are...please.'

'Okay.' John said softly, looking back to Sherlock's face in the mirror and seeing his friend's eyes red rimmed. 'Shit, what's going on Sherlock?'

'I needed to tell you, so you hear it straight from me...everyone was right.' Sherlock swallowed. 'I'm a psychopath who gets a high from controlling other people. I'm lying, I'm...fake. Everything the papers wrote was true. Everyone's right at school, I've been cheating to stay here.'

'No,' John said, closing his eyes. 'No.'

'Yes.'

John looked at Sherlock through the mirror. 'No. You're the smartest person I've ever met.'

'It's all fake-just tricks to build up my reputation. None of it was true.'

'Sherlock. No. Nothing's gonna make me believe that, I know you for real.' John's voice shook. 'Why are you doing this?'

'This is my note, John. People leave notes..' Sherlock's voice trailed off and John's broke as he spoke.

'Leave notes when?' Lestrade was calling his name, hurrying over to him, but John didn't turn. He was thinking of Victor, who didn't leave a note, and he felt sick.

'Goodbye John.'

'No,' John said, and then looked back up to Sherlock standing at tower. 'No,' he breathed. 'SHERLOCK!' he screamed, as Sherlock let himself fall over the edge of the parapet and Lestrade finally made it next to John. 'Sherlock..' John whimpered, watching as Sherlock hit the grassy ground and several girls screamed. John heard an odd noise and realized it was a sob from his throat.

He moved to run to Sherlock, looking between two older boys and seeing a lot of blood--Lestrade's arms were around him, holding him back. 'Stay put, you don't want to crowd. People will be coming to help-' But John broke free of Lestrade's grip and ran two Sherlock, collapsing two his knees and pawing his body, clutching his wrist and finding no pulse, feeling faint at the sight of all the blood-

'GIVE SPACE!' Lestrade roared, coming through the mass of people to stand next to John. 'Oh God-' Lestrade muttered, and John heard the man's voice catch before he grabbing John's arm and helped him up. 'Come on. I hear professor McGonagall, there's nothing we can do here for now.'

John protested weakly as they walked, before collapsing to his knees at the edge of the grass and vomiting, tears falling silently from his eyes. Lestrade was next to him quickly, eyes red and glassy looking, and John retched again, Lestrade's hand soothingly on his shoulder.

'It's alright John, it's okay...' But he heard too much emotion in the detective's voice, felt a slight tremble in his hand.

Nothing was ever going to be okay.


	17. an Epilogue

John was exempt from the remainder of his exams, as were, he suspected, the other students who'd witnessed what had happened that day. Later that night Jim Moriarty's body had been discovered on the Astronomy Tower, and John was among some of the students questioned as to what he might know.

Sherlock's suicide, people, said, seemed like it was for obvious reasons. Moriarty's was harder to figure out.

John didn't know if anyone ever would and he was beyond caring.

Lestrade stayed with him as long as he was able to that day, and John didn't talk much. He didn't want someone to talk to he wanted Sherlock to come back and give him answers.

He hated that for so much of the year, Sherlock had insisted that he wasn't suicidal; had made it out that even after Victor's death, he'd wanted to live. John had always trusted Sherlock, and yet none of it made sense. Sherlock's confession, Moriarty's suicide, Sherlock's suicide, the police newspapers and the accusations of cheating brought about by the school.

If he was honest with himself, John would say he hated mysteries.

He was done with puzzles; there was no point if Sherlock wasn't there to solve them. So he let Lestrade console him and Molly hug him tightly, and McGonagall call him into his office, only to let him leave ten minutes later when she found he had nothing to say.

Life seemed empty without Sherlock.

 

He took long walks in the castle, not knowing how else to spend his time without exams or a best friend to hang out with, or even the desire to talk. But while in the dungeons one day, a blond haired slytherin girl came out of Snape's office and spotted him.

'Everything alright?' she asked.

John blinked. 'Yeah. Fine.' he said shortly, hoping she'd leave. She didn't.

'I'm Mary, I think I've seen you before...'

And he realized this was the girl he'd seen in the Slytherin dormitory while he and Sherlock were trying to get the photos from Irene. He almost smiled, knowing he could never tell the girl that.

'Well, there aren't that many people here; probably at breakfast or something.'

Mary nodded as if still trying to place him.

'Im John,' John said, and held out his hand. Mary shook it, smiling slightly. 'What year are you anyways?'

'Fifth,' Mary said. 'Finished OWLs, had to talk to Snape about something.' She nodded to his door. 'Do you want to head somewhere less damp and tell me while you looked so miserable?'

John shook his head. 'No.' He considered for a moment. 'Well, out of the damp, yes, if you don't mind my company, but I don't think I'll talk much.'

Mary smiled. 'Fine.'

 

His last day on school grounds took him wandering to the edge of the forbidden forest before he even realized where he was heading. And the thought hit him that even if he couldn't see Sherlock anymore, Sherlock was connected with the Thestrals in John's mind, and John would finally be able to see them.

Excited despite himself, John hurried into the forest, running over branches and twigs and roots until he came to the clearing where Sherlock had taken him. There was nothing there.

Slightly put out, John sat down heavily on a long, wondering if they would have moved throughout the forest when he felt a warm breath on the back of his arm. 

John took a deep breath, and slowly turned around. 

Empty air.

He held out his hand slowly, and the familiar bony nose pressed into it. John felt tears spring to his eyes, wondering why he couldn't see them. Wondering why life had presented him with such a cruel trick-to see death was to see the Thestrals, and John had seen the worst death he could have ever imagined. And yet the beasts where still invisible to him.

For a long time he left his hand on the Thestral's nose, not bothering to wipe the tears from his eyes as he felt his last shred of hope fall away from him. Sherlock, and all traces of him, was gone.

 

A few yards away, unknown to John, a raven haired boy with piercing grey eyes sniffled slightly, looking away from his best friend to wipe his redding eyes with his sleeve. Sherlock Holmes turned to look at the skeletal horse beside him, somehow comforted by the eerie silent beast.

He took one last look at the broken form of John Watson for what may be the last time, and then slowly walked away into the forest and away from the castle. They both had a sorrowful time ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is more character driven and story driven than driven by a central mystery as the other ones were. Obviously I took inspiration from a few of the BBC episodes, and wanted to try to do justice to the characters therein.  
> This series is almost a series of two arcs: Years 1-4 make up the Moriarty arc, Years 5-7 make up the second (and final) arc.  
> 


End file.
